Making Spirits Bright
by sienna27
Summary: Universe A: Offshoot - TV Show Episode Title Challenge - Prompt Set #13 - Merry Ex-Mas; Under the Mistletoe - Flashback to Christmas Eve Season 3, Dave's big holiday party; H/P Friendship
1. An Unexpected Evening

**Author's Note**: This is another offshoot (2 parts) of _Falling in Love with a Girl_, but as is the case with most of them, you can read this without having read the larger story. It's just Christmas Eve season 3.

As to Girl, this would be a missing scene taking place just before Hotch got the divorce papers (Chp 33) and he and Em had the big make out in the bathroom. Because that portion of Girl pretty much worked totally around canon episodes (and they didn't address Christmas on the show), I never did any holiday chapters for them back then. In retrospect I wish I had filled in some holiday pieces, but at the time I was just trying to keep the story rolling along and didn't really understand the epic world that it would eventually become :)

If I could think of some easy way to do it, I'd just go insert this into the Girl story at the proper point in time, but I think I'd have to move around like 97 chapters to do that and well, that's just not happening. Not today anyway. Perhaps someday while I'm watching something mindless on television I'll do it, but for now, it's just a standalone story.

So Christmas Eve, season 3, Dave's annual Christmas bash.

* * *

**Prompt Set #13**

**Show**: Girlfriends

**Title:** Merry Ex-Mas

* * *

**Prompt Set #13**

**Show:** Melrose Place

**Title**: Under the Mistletoe

* * *

**Making Spirits Bright**

Hotch leaned back against the wall with a weary sigh.

He looked around Dave's enormous living room. It was open air into the kitchen, with a fireplace on one wall, a flat screen on another and three different seating areas around the room. There was also one wall made almost completely of glass (reinforced, bullet proof of course) which had French doors leading out to the patio.

Even given the lousy mood he was in, Hotch did acknowledge that it was a very "nice" living room. Nice house actually, at least what he'd seen of it over the past hour was very nice. But that was all he could vouch for because he'd never been there before that night.

The last time Hotch had been over to Dave's for a social occasion was nine years, two wives and three homes earlier. The place he'd had back then had been _considerably_ smaller.

But of course he'd had three best sellers since then.

And Hotch knew that Dave had bought this current home after the last divorce. It was huge, 4700 square feet, two stories, professionally decorated all in dark colors, dark wood and expensive leather furniture.

It was all very macho . . . all very Dave.

And Dave was throwing his annual Christmas party. Hotch hadn't been to one of them in over a decade. He actually hadn't been _invited_ to one in years, which was understandable given that he and Dave had lost touch for awhile after the older man had left the Unit.

Not a falling out really, just, you don't see people and they start to fade from your circle.

But . . . Hotch took a swig of his second beer . . . the circle was widening again.

Though Dave had had a rocky couple of weeks with the team when he first arrived back at the BAU, he'd smoothed things over since then. Morgan had been the last holdout but he'd seemed to have dropped his remaining reservations after the cannibal case down in Florida. Something had happened between the two men down there that seemed to bond them in a way that Hotch didn't quite understand.

But regardless, he was pleased that at least the awkwardness had passed. As he recalled it had taken much longer for Prentiss to really settle in.

Though . . . he felt a faint stab of guilt . . . perhaps that was just his perception because in her case HE had been the holdout. Fortunately though, he'd finally got his head _completely_ out of his ass and things had gotten steadily better between them. Now they were good. Quite good really.

He actually couldn't imagine the team without her.

Speaking of the team . . . he looked around the room . . . because they were on call for the week, nobody could travel farther than a hundred mile radius from Quantico. So basically nobody could visit their families this year, which was why Dave had decided to throw the party on Christmas Eve rather than the usual Friday before.

He'd just wanted to ensure that everyone would have something to do.

And they were all was here tonight. Hotch could see them mingling in different parts of the room. Garcia had brought her new boyfriend, that tech Kevin that had helped them out after she was shot. Hotch thought the guy was a little strange but he didn't have to date him so he supposed his opinion really wasn't all that relevant.

Derek had brought his 'holiday honey' (his version of commitment was to date the same woman for the entire holiday season). And Reid was chatting up what appeared to be . . . from the dark hair and features . . . a younger member of the Rossi clan.

Because Dave couldn't get back to New York, most of his family was visiting him for Christmas week.

Hotch just hoped that the pretty young Rossi that Reid was talking to wasn't Teresa. She was due to enter a convent next month and Dave said she'd been "sowing some oats" before the trip. And if Dave caught Spencer assisting his niece with her "oat sowing" then they'd probably be down two team members come the new year.

Reid would be dead and Rossi would be in county lockup awaiting his trial.

With a final shake of his head at that future imperfect, Hotch's eyes traveled over to JJ and Dave (fortunately) in the opposite corner of the room. Dave had his hand on JJ's back as he pointed to the painting on the wall. JJ was laughing at something he'd just said and Hotch rolled his eyes when he saw the look on Dave's face.

_So not gonna happen Rossi._

Hotch blew out a huff of hot air as he looked over this room full of people laughing and smiling.

He wanted to go home.

Actually . . . he took another long swig of his beer . . . he hadn't wanted to come period. But the women hadn't really given him much choice in the matter. All week long his response to "see you at the party, Hotch?" was, "maybe."

Which of course meant no.

But then tonight first Garcia, then JJ, and finally Prentiss had shown up in his office. One after another they had "popped by" with happy smiles all dressed up in their party outfits . . . black skirts and festive sweaters, Garcia's complete with a battery operated flashing Rudolph . . . to remind him that everyone was leaving for Dave's Christmas party at five. And before they left, all three had dropped a little present (bribe) on his desk.

They were like the Three Wisemen sans the Myrrh . . . and the penises.

JJ bought him a new tie to wear for the holidays. As Christmas ties went it was very tasteful . . . black with tiny little green wreaths and Christmas tree on it.

Knowing he had nowhere else to wear it . . . his social calendar was rather slim these days . . . Hotch had slipped it on before he left the office.

To his amusement Garcia's gift to him was a plate of red and green "Christmas" cookies in the shape of bats and pumpkins. She'd sheepishly explained that her Christmas cookie cutters had gone missing and she hadn't realized until she'd already mixed up the dough.

And Prentiss . . . Hotch snorted slightly as he thought back . . . she'd given him the twenty bucks she'd borrowed the day before. She'd even slapped a bow on it.

When he'd looked up at her in astonishment . . . not that he'd wanted or expected a present from her but seriously, paying him back money he was owed totally did NOT count as a gift . . . a huge grin had slid across her face.

"Just kidding, sir!" She'd exclaimed right before she'd stepped back out into the hall to get his actual present.

A bottle of Jameson's . . . that too had a bow on it.

As was often the case with Emily Prentiss he couldn't stop his lips from twitching as he looked between the crisp twenty dollar bill and the shiny green bottle. Then he'd rolled his eyes good naturedly as he looked up and huffed, "_fine_, I'll go."

She'd smirked as she told him that was good because if he hadn't said yes to her then they were sending Reid up dressed as an elf.

His lip had quirked up involuntarily at that image before he'd schooled his features, shooing her out of his office with the promise that he'd be there by seven.

They were making an effort for him . . . trying to cheer him up over the holidays . . . and it wasn't going to kill him to make an effort for them.

After all, he'd figured that it was only a few hours of his life so how bad could it be. But being around all of these people so festive and . . . he scowled slightly as he drained the rest of his bottle . . . happy, was doing nothing but make him even more depressed.

Two days earlier Haley had told him that she had no interest in counseling and that she'd been talking to a lawyer about having divorce papers drawn up.

It wasn't the first time the D word had come up, but it was the first time that it had been mentioned in the context of actual paperwork.

Obviously that . . . and missing opening presents Christmas morning with his three year old son . . . had pretty much marched his holiday spirit out to the end of the gangplank at gunpoint. And now this party tonight was shoving it off said plank and straight into the shark infested waters below.

Okay . . . he furrowed his brow . . . he really wished he hadn't fallen asleep with that damn Johnny Depp movie on the television. His brain had been making odd pirate connotations all day.

He checked his watch.

All right, he either had to leave RIGHT now before he popped open a third beer. Or he had to stay another couple hours to make sure that any additional alcohol he consumed had dissipated from his system before he got behind the wheel.

Hearing the group off to his left start to sing jingle bells . . . as a round . . . Hotch decided that maybe he'd go get another beer while he made his decision as to whether he should have another drink.

/*/*/*/*/

Emily was sitting in one of the end chairs, eyeing Hotch worriedly from across the room . . . he looked miserable.

The poor thing. Maybe they shouldn't have been so pushy, maybe they should have just left him alone tonight to be all depressed and wallowy on his own.

But they'd thought this would be good for him. That getting him out of the house on Christmas Eve would cheer him up. She pouted . . . obviously they'd majorly miscalculated that one.

If anything he seemed worse here than he had been at work. But of course at work he at least had well, WORK to distract him. Here there were just a bunch of Dave's friends and family getting drunk on a variety of alcoholic beverages. Beverages which included three kinds of beer, an assortment of wine brought up from his private cellar, and the standard holiday favorite . . . rum spiked eggnog.

The eggnog smelled like it was about a 100 proof so she was sticking with the wine.

And though it was nice to meet some of Dave's family . . . her eyes shifted away from Hotch as she looked around the room trying picking them out the ones she had indeed met . . . not all of them were people that she'd wish to spend time with on any kind of regular basis.

For instance Dave's nephew . . . aka Antony Rossi the Third . . . had grabbed her ass ten minutes after she walked in the door.

SO not what she was expecting to happen at a private family oriented Christmas Eve gathering! And because of that there had been a millisecond of delay on her part before she'd recovered from her astonishment and turned around. When she'd seen the sleazy smirk and heard the "hey baby, want to open a package?" she'd seen red. Before she'd realized what she was doing . . . or who he was . . . she'd grabbed the little punk by his throat and slammed him against the wall.

Fortunately for Dave's carpets, before she'd done any more than that, Dave had suddenly appeared at her side to intercede pre-bloodletting.

Apparently he'd seen what had happened. And after he'd muttered an embarrassed apology and told her that he'd take care of it, he'd shot Antony a withering look before dragging his terrified nephew off in a discreet headlock.

The kid . . . twenty-nine going on fifteen it turned out . . . had come back over to apologize five minutes later.

His ear was bright red and he kept shooting a nervous glance over to "Uncle Dave" watching him from the kitchen.

Emily had accepted the apology for Dave's sake but she'd still been eying Antony warily since then. The guy hadn't appeared to be THAT drunk, just slightly buzzed. And if he was going out feeling women up . . . in his uncle's HOME . . . after just a couple of beers, she didn't even want to see what he'd be getting into after a six pack.

And that little encounter had kind of dampened her enjoyment for the evening, which totally sucked because she'd been genuinely looking forward to this party. It was the first time they'd all been together off duty since, well . . . ever.

Certainly since Dave had been there.

Plus with Garcia's shooting late last month they'd had a little something extra to be thankful for that Christmas. But now . . . she drained the rest of the wine from her glass (number two) . . . she kind of wanted to go home. After the first twenty minutes of team bonding, everyone had kind of scattered around the room and she was starting to sort of feel like she was there by herself.

Which she supposed she technically was.

After all, she didn't have a date . . . Derek and Garcia had each brought one . . . so yeah, okay, she was definitely there all by herself and now she was feeling way more depressed than she had been five minutes ago. Maybe it would be best if she left now before she got totally bummed out.

Then she looked down at her watch and pouted as she saw that it was barely eight.

Well, it would probably be a little pathetic to go home THIS early. Christ, she'd had a later bedtime when she was nine!

Okay . . . she blew out a puff of air as she started to head for the bar set up in the connecting kitchen . . . one more glass of wine should kill another forty minutes.

/*/*/*/*

Hotch was staring into the beverage refrigerator looking for another bottle of Guinness when he suddenly smelled Emily's perfume. He turned his head to see her standing behind him.

"Hey," she gave him a little smile as she held out her glass, "care to help a girl get a refill?"

Of course she could have got it herself, but given that she was starting to get a bit of the holiday blues, a little human contact was definitely in order.

His expression softening slightly, Hotch took the glass from her hand.

"Sure, what are you drinking?"

"Allegrini," Emily stood on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder to see the assortment of bottles Dave had out on the marble counter, "but I don't see it anymore." She frowned, "shoot, I guess I'll have to drink something else."

Damn, that was a good bottle. And she hated to start mixing drinks, even if it was just wine and wine. She bit her lip . . . maybe that was the sign that it really was time to go home.

Seeing the disappointment on Prentiss' face, Hotch shifted his gaze over her shoulder as he tried to spot Dave in the adjacent room. There had to be more of this stuff around here somewhere.

The guy had a full wine cellar for Christ's sake! How could he just have the one bottle?

It took him a second to find their host . . . still off in the corner talking to JJ . . . but then Hotch waved, catching Dave's eyes before he simultaneously pointed to Emily with one hand and held up her empty wine glass with the other.

Dave responded by holding up his cell phone. So Hotch pulled out his own phone and watched as a second later a text message popped up.

'_Wine cellar's off the back hall, 3__rd__ door on L. Help yourself to whatever.'_

Hotch nodded back to Dave before he turned to Emily.

"We're going for a walk."

Getting her the drink she wanted made him feel useful. So . . . he put her dirty glass back on the counter . . . assisting her had a more selfish benefit beyond simply making her happy.

When Hotch held his arm out towards the door, Emily just stared at him for a moment.

She hadn't actually expected for him to care about her choice of beverage. And here she had just decided that she should probably go home.

For a second she debated whether or not she really wanted to stay any longer. But then she figured that if Hotch was willing to go out of his way to get her another glass of the wine that she wanted, then why would she be cranky and leave anyway?

After all, it was Christmas Eve . . . she should try to make the best of things. So she gave Hotch a little smile as she turned to start cutting back through the living room to get to the wine cellar Dave had pointed out earlier in the night.

Hotch followed closely behind Prentiss as they skirted around the small groups of people talking at the party. Then she stopped suddenly . . . he had to put his hand on her back to keep from walking into her.

"What is it?" Hotch whispered into her ear as he stepped up beside her. He couldn't really see an obvious impediment to her forward momentum.

"I uh," she shook her head, "nothing," and she moved slightly into his space, pressing herself against his side.

Though she knew that Hotch wasn't generally a fan of sharing his personal space with the rest of the inhabitants of the planet, Emily wasn't too concerned about that at the moment. Because she'd just spotted somebody else at Dave's party that she knew.

And it was somebody that she REALLY did not wish to see.

Agent Danny Brooks.

She'd dated Danny for about three weeks. Things had been going along pretty well. Seemed like a nice guy, he was cute and kind of funny. He worked major narcotics cases and they'd met in the cafeteria one day when she was getting a bagel. They had a few lunches, then a few dinners, and finally . . . at the end of week three . . . she'd decided to invite him over for an "after dinner drink."

And then things had gone down a very bad road. She'd ended up ordering him out of her house.

He was naked at the time.

Before it all went to shit, things . . . as they had been since they'd met . . . had been going along pretty well. It turned out he wasn't super skilled in the love making department, but he had been making an effort with the foreplay, and that was more than a lot of guys did. And then as he was moving along doing his stuff, all of a sudden he'd started asking her about her cases. And had she ever kept any photographs. And did she have any in the house.

This was AS he was sucking on her nipple!

She'd shoved him off, grabbed the sheet to cover up and screamed at him to get the hell out. He was pretty stunned and tried to backpedal that he was just "making conversation."

Making conversation.

Making SERIAL KILLER conversation, again AS he was sucking on her nipple!

For some reason that just made it even worse. That he'd try to rationalize it as no big deal. She'd been totally freaked out by the whole experience.

That was three months ago and she hadn't seen Danny since she'd thrown his clothes in his face after she'd pushed him out of her apartment.

It was of course SO her life that he would be here tonight at Dave's party. But at least half of the forty or so guests here tonight were from the Bureau. And Danny seemed like a really good guy so WHY would Dave have reason to believe that he had creepy sexual predilections!?

Feeling the waves of tension now rolling off of Emily (he absentmindedly noticed that when he was worried about her he always started thinking of her as "Emily" rather than "Prentiss"), Hotch's brow darkened as he looked around the room.

He was trying to find the source of her unease. Finally he spotted a familiar face just ahead and off to the left.

Special Agent Daniel J. Brooks.

As Hotch recalled, Prentiss had been seeing him a little earlier in the year. Though had no idea what had happened there, he had noticed that Brooks completely dropped off the radar awhile ago.

And given that he was located in the one area of the room that Emily was most studiously NOT looking, Hotch deduced that it must have been an unpleasant breakup.

Well . . . he subtly moved her over to his other side . . . at present Hotch was extremely sympathetic to the angst and drama behind the unpleasant breakup (though he was still working on the MAKEUP portion of the relationship overhaul) so if she didn't want to see this guy . . . he involuntarily shot a glare over to the two men talking in front of the sofa . . . she didn't _have_ to see this guy.

To shield her from view, Hotch put his hand on the back of Emily's neck as she ducked down and he guided her out of the room. Once they were in the quiet area of the back hall his hand slipped down slightly to the center of her back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked softly as they continued down the hall.

They didn't generally have that kind of relationship, the 'talk about their personal life' kind, but she was clearly unsettled seeing this guy again. And contrary to some people's opinions, Hotch wasn't socially awkward.

He wasn't Reid.

Just because he CHOSE not to engage in personal chitchat with his coworkers didn't mean he was incapable of doing so.

Emily snapped her head up, "uh, no, not really but um," she bit her lip, "do you think that there's some way that you can back channel to get him in for a psych review?"

Okay . . . she blinked . . . she wasn't quite sure where THAT came from! But when she and Hotch were alone together he had a way of putting her at ease. And then she ended up sometimes saying things that she totally had not intended to say.

Like THAT for instance!

Hotch froze, his hand falling off Emily's back as she kept moving. But he reached out, catching her fingers before she walked away.

When she turned back to look at him he stammered, "what . . . what happened?"

She wouldn't randomly ask him to get a psych evaluation run on an ex-boyfriend unless there was something _seriously_ wrong with him!

Emily's gaze slid over Hotch's shoulder back towards the living room as she wrapped her arms around her stomach.

"Uh, you know what, uh," she started to feel her face getting warm, "let's just forget it."

Given that the request had slipped out her mouth completely by accident she really didn't see any point in pushing it. Because she SERIOUSLY didn't want to have to tell Hotch a NIPPLE sucking story! Definitely not now! On Christmas Eve!

At her evasiveness, Hotch felt a cold stab of fear in his belly. Then he took a step closer to her, his voice gentle as he asked, "did he hurt you?"

The body language she was displaying right now was seriously scaring the crap out of him!

Emily's brow darkened slightly as she quickly shook her head.

"No, no it wasn't like that. He didn't do anything like that."

Great, now he thinks she was ASSAULTED! And to clear up that misconception now she was going to HAVE to tell Hotch a nipple sucking story on Christmas Eve!

Damn it!

But she could see that her assurances hadn't done anything to alleviate the tension in his jaw. Which meant that he was going to be obsessing about this until she told him what had actually happened.

Her jaw twitched once before her irritation faded and she sighed, "if I tell you what happened, do you promise that you won't say anything to anyone?"

Yes, it was embarrassing but there really wasn't any way out of it now. And her subconscious must have had a reason that it made her blurt the damn request out to begin with. She'd known many freaky people over the years . . . both before and after her extensive psych training explained why they were the way they were . . . and just because you were a freak in the bedroom, that didn't _necessarily_ mean that you were mentally unbalanced.

And she didn't REALLY think that Danny was genuinely unbalanced.

The bottom-line was . . . and this was probably her subconscious' issue . . . she probably would feel a little better about him walking around with a badge and loaded firearms if she had another professional's assurance that he was indeed just strangely wired and not actually a potential UNSUB.

Hotch ground his teeth together . . . he really didn't want to make that promise until he'd heard what the hell it was this guy had done. But as he saw the look Emily was giving him he knew that he wasn't going to get another word out of her unless he agreed to keep the particulars to himself. So he jerked his head.

"Yes, I promise. Now please Prentiss," he practically begged, "tell me what happened."

Just then they heard a glass shatter from the party going on behind them. And that's when Hotch realized that they were standing in the middle of the hallway.

An echoey hallway where absolutely anybody . . . Brooks included . . . could come along and hear what they were talking about.

He started moving forward again. "Come on," he tipped his head, "let's go somewhere a little more private."

They were on their way to the wine cellar anyway. And you couldn't get much more private than a cold damp hole in the ground.

"Right," Emily nodded as she followed after him, "that's probably a good idea."

God knows with her luck she'd turn around to find half the team standing there listening to her embarrassing little tale about what horribly bad taste she had in men.

Though in her defense this guy was here at Dave's party so clearly he passed pretty well for "normal." And hey . . . she started feeling a little better . . . if Dave didn't think he was an UNSUB either then that was another point in favor of her making the right assessment.

Of course . . . another thought came to her . . . it was unlikely that Dave was intimately acquainted with Danny's sexual habits, and she too had thought he was normal before that night.

Okay . . . scratch that one.

They found the wine cellar without any problem, and as they walked down the steps Emily forgot for a moment the story she had to tell Hotch as she was caught by surprise by what she was seeing.

It wasn't what she'd been expecting.

The cellar was well lit, done over in a light Tuscan style with the wine racks built into the walls. Dave even had a tasting area set up by the little mini kitchen. After the macho décor upstairs she'd been expecting something more gothic beneath the earth. Heavy beams and dark stone, but this was really nice.

Once they were at the bottom of the stairs Hotch stopped and turned to look at the woman behind him.

"Okay, tell me what happened."

He could see that Emily looked uncomfortable and for a second he thought she wasn't going to tell him the story. But then she took a breath and cleared her throat before she very succinctly recapped the upsetting portion of her last evening with Agent Brooks. It didn't take long, and as soon as she got to the point where he started asking about pictures Hotch's brow darkened. And then he took note of the faint flush to Emily's cheeks and he felt his chest tighten that she'd been so vulnerable with someone like that.

It didn't matter what he did for them on the job, he couldn't protect them twenty-four hours a day.

When she stopped, he took a breath as he looked over at her.

"Did he ever do anything else, before or after that night that had disturbed you?"

"No," she bit her lip as she slowly shook her head, "we've had no contact since then and nothing beforehand raised any red flags. Really Hotch," her nose wrinkled in disgust, "do you think I'd be involved with someone like that?"

Yes, she'd dated some borderline deviants in her younger days but she certainly didn't STAY with them once she KNEW they were borderline deviants!

His expression softened, "no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just meant," he rubbed his hand across his mouth, "did anything in retrospect seem odd or inappropriate about his interest in our work? Was that moment an anomaly for the relationship?"

He was looking for something that showed a psychopathic psychology. Some indication that the front Brooks was projecting to the world was false.

For a second Emily's eyes went slightly out of focus as she thought back.

"No," she said slowly, "there was nothing."

Of course she knew exactly where Hotch was going with this. And she'd already done a complete run down of Danny's behavior as she'd scrubbed herself raw in the shower that night.

There was nothing there.

"Well then," Hotch leaned back against the stucco wall, "though I agree that Agent Brooks is definitely in need of some in-depth counseling, without any additional evidence of inappropriate behavior I'm not inclined to believe that he poses a threat to anyone. But I'll flag him for a psychological review and I'll craft a specific series of questions to be worked into the routine rundown."

That should be enough to determine whether Brooks' disturbing sexual fantasies were just that, sexual fantasies . . . perhaps brought on by some childhood trauma . . . or indicative of a truly disturbed mind. At the very least after the review Hotch would know whether Brooks needed additional monitoring.

Emily gave him a soft smile, "thanks Hotch."

Hotch tipped his head.

"Consider it an extra Christmas present."

All he'd given her that afternoon was a Starbucks card, at least this gift was a bit more personal.

She snorted, "ah yes, what to get the girl who has everything. An involuntary psych exam for her freakazoid ex-boyfriend."

Seeing Hotch's lips twitch slightly, she smiled at him . . . she knew freakazoid would get him. It certainly wasn't in the manual. And it might have been a little embarrassing for her, but at least she seemed to have distracted him from his earlier melancholy.

God knows she'd made an ass out of herself for much less worthy causes in the past.

She tipped her head over to the rows of bottles lining the walls around them.

"Thirsty?"

/*/*/*/*

When they got back upstairs . . . Emily's bottle of Allegrini was tucked under Hotch's jacket . . . they saw that at least another dozen people had arrived.

The party was starting to spill into other parts of the downstairs. The kitchen, the living room and the media room were all noisy and lousy with ugly Christmas ties and sweaters.

And one glance over to Hotch confirmed Emily's assumption that he had no desire to go mix. So she put her hand on his bicep.

"Let's go upstairs," she tipped her head in the other direction, "Dave gave JJ and me a little tour when we got here. He has a library up there. It'll be quiet."

Though she wasn't ordinarily a proponent of nosing around other people's homes when she was invited over for a party, she had actually been shown upstairs earlier in the evening. And it's not like she and Hotch were sneaking off to have sex on the coats on the bed, they just wanted someplace quiet to have a drink.

Hotch looked around at the people that had spilled into the back hallway. A back hallway that had been empty when they'd gone downstairs fifteen minutes earlier.

Dave's parties had once been notorious around the Bureau, and given the increasing noise level . . . due to increasing alcohol consumption . . . this one was shaping up to make the list.

For a moment Hotch stood there biting his lip and then he shrugged, "okay."

Really it was either that or go home. And though that had been his main desire a half hour ago, now that they'd gone to all the trouble to find Emily's bottle of wine . . . and their unconventional bonding experience with her unpleasant sexual encounter . . . he felt like he least owed her a drink.

So after a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a couple of clean wineglasses, he followed Emily up the back staircase.

When they arrived on the second floor he stopped and stared at what he saw in front of him. He actually almost whistled he was so impressed. Then he saw Emily grinning at him.

"I know, aren't they cool?"

Running along the length of the upstairs wall, Dave had a museum quality display of handguns and rifles dating all the way back to a Revolutionary War musket.

Hotch reached out to touch what appeared to be an original Colt .45 Peacemaker.

It was beautiful.

Just before his fingers made contact, he curled them back. It had just occurred to him that perhaps Dave didn't like them to be handled.

"I did the same thing," he heard Emily say. And when he turned to look at her she gave him a soft smile, "but I went for the Marlin rifle."

Seeing his look of confusion she pointed further down the wall, "it was one of Annie Oakley's favorites."

His lip quirked up as he walked over to take a look.

"It's nice," he raised his eyebrow as he looked back at Emily, "it's not HERS is it?'

Hotch knew Dave had made a considerable amount of money off his book sales, and the vintage gun collection didn't surprise him, but he didn't think Rossi was actually rounding up famous guns of the Wild West.

Emily's fingers ghosted over the outline of the rifle as she shook her head. "No," she said softly, "it's not hers. But she had one just like this."

Though Emily's female heroes ran the gamut, she really was a big fan of Annie Oakley's. Not that she'd performed any particular courageous act, but just the whole way she'd lived her life. Showing the world that women could beat men at their own games, that sex was not indicative of ability.

She'd broken down barriers like nobody before her ever had. And that was something to truly admire.

Emily scowled as she thought of what passed for role models for young girls these days . . . a bunch of spoiled, whorish, shallow celebutantes that contributed nothing to the world but an increased need for shots of penicillin after they passed through town.

"Prentiss, you okay?"

Hotch's brow wrinkled slightly . . . she had a funny look on her face.

At Hotch's question, Emily turned and looked at him.

"What?" She smiled, "oh yeah, sorry, my mind wandered for a second." Then she spun around and pointed, "down here," she started walking as she continued talking.

"Dave said there were five bedrooms up here when he moved in but he converted two of them into a library slash study." She turned the knob to enter the room she'd only poked her head into earlier in the night. Then she looked back at Hotch with a little smile.

"Here we go."

/*/*/*/*/

They settled into the small library with Emily's bottle of wine and the two glasses she'd purloined from the cabinet before they'd come upstairs. And then Emily realized that she'd forgotten to get a corkscrew when she got the glasses so she watched with no small amount of amusement as Hotch uncorked the bottle using only his pocket knife and a steady stream of obscenities muttered under his breath.

Finally it popped out . . . in two pieces . . . and she grinned at him across the small leather sofa, "well done, sir!"

Hotch's lips twitched slightly as he filled the glasses sitting on the small coffee table in front of them, "yes, well, as I believe I've mentioned before, I was a Boy Scout."

"Yes," Emily chuckled as she kicked her heels off and pulled her feet up under her, "I do recall you mentioning that the night you showed up at my house selling door to door pizzas. But I just hadn't realized that Boy Scouts gave out badges for creative opening of liquor bottles."

Hotch raised his eyebrow in disapproval as he handed her one of the half full glasses he'd just poured, "it's a private society Prentiss, I really can't get into it."

Her eyes crinkled as she took the glass from his hand, "I see, well perhaps someday Dan Brown will write a book about them and I'll get the full story."

Emily had started to notice that Hotch could occasionally be quite funny when he was in the right mood. Of course getting him to that right mood meant getting him out of whatever unpleasant mood he was most likely to be found in.

Essentially the Funny Hotch was a fleeting phenomenon that came and went almost before you knew something special had happened. Like a comet.

Or a seeing a forty year old hooker with all of her own teeth.

Hotch smirked at Emily's joke, "dare to dream Prentiss."

All right . . . as she started to chuckle he took a sip of the fruity red wine . . . he was starting to feel a bit better about his decision to stay a little longer at the party. Some of that crushing depression he'd been feeling for the past few days had started to lift. Not completely of course, but he didn't feel quite so miserable. And he knew that was Emily's doing.

Prentiss was . . . he thought back to the night Garcia was shot . . . well, Prentiss was often a comforting distraction from his problems. He wasn't sure exactly why that was though.

Perhaps . . . his eyes crinkled as she started talking about the fox and hounds painting Dave had on the opposite wall . . . because she so often disarmed him with a joke or one of her ridiculous remarks. And then before he knew it he'd be biting his lip to keep from laughing at something she'd said. And as she then made some baffling correlation between the painting and the bust size of the woman Derek had brought to the party, Hotch had to call on his considerable reserves of self control to keep from snorting the wine out of his nose.

All things considered . . . he leaned back against the fine Corinthian leather . . . this evening was certainly going better than he'd thought it would when he'd reluctantly agreed to the guilt soaked invitation.

And as they sat there alone together they had one drink, and then another, and then another, talking about things of absolutely no consequence. The weather, office gossip, garish holiday displays in store windows.

Emily's profound dislike of the new Frosty cartoon.

Mostly Hotch just followed along as Prentiss drifted from one topic to another. She did about 80% of the talking, but as the level of wine in the bottle dwindled ever lower he started getting slightly more loquacious.

And then he noticed that after he said something about morbid obesity rates for department store santas that Emily actually did snort wine out of her nose.

Her self control wasn't quite as rigid as his.

And then she started giggling hysterically as she tried unsuccessfully to wipe off her red cashmere sweater. He felt a little badly about the sweater . . . his Y chromosome had to admit she looked VERY nice in it . . . but as he looked over at her fruitless efforts, his mouth started to quiver and then he put his hand up to cover his own chuckle.

Things like this . . . she muttered a good natured profanity as she gave up on cleaning her ruined cashmere . . . were exactly what allowed him to forget his problems for a little while. Her lighter spirit could blow the darkness from the room.

It was nearly impossible to resist.

Emily's slightly buzzed brain shifted gears as something caught her eye and she suddenly bounded up.

"Ooh," she exclaimed, "look there's mistletoe hanging in the corner!"

Hotch pushed himself up slightly to see what she was pointing at. Then he barked a laugh.

"Prentiss! That's a FERN!"

She frowned at it, "are you sure?" then she raised a saucy eyebrow as she looked back at him, "because it looks to me like it's mistletoe."

Yes, it was indeed a fern. But it's not like she was trying to get lucky or anything. It's just that it was Christmas Eve and they were having a nice time talking like regular people and the wine was now gone and they were a teensy bit buzzed and she kind of wanted to end the night on a good note.

And a mistletoe kiss with a really cute guy (who just _happened _to be her boss) was a good note.

Really, her holiday blues hadn't completely left her. She hadn't even had a date in over a month and she was feeling a little sad knowing that she was moving into yet another calendar year and she STILL didn't have anyone in her life.

And Hotch was separated, and she knew that he'd been having a way more depressing week than she had so she thought a kiss might cheer him up too. Yes, she knew that he was working on NOT being separated but still, it wouldn't be inappropriate for them to share a friendly little mistletoe kiss.

Or . . . she eyed the droopy plant hanging down in front of her . . . fern kiss, as the case may be.

Hotch stood up, eyeing Emily seriously as he walked over to where she was standing. Then he looked up at the fern hanging over them. And then he started counting back all the months since he'd last kissed a woman.

Six.

He hadn't kissed a woman since June. It had been that long since he'd so much as KISSED a woman, let alone did anything else. And he had to admit that was a point that was seriously beginning to chafe. Though he knew that with the separation that he was legally clear to act on any and all urges, he'd had no interest in doing so.

Well, he did of course have _interest_, but he was trying to put his marriage back together and acting on those urges held no real appeal beyond physical gratification.

It would have felt like cheating on his wife.

But as he looked back at Prentiss with her tight red sweater and the rosy blush on her cheeks from the alcohol, rather than seeing her as he usually did . . . as simply one of his agents . . . he saw her as the beautiful woman that she really was.

Eh . . . he took a step closer to her . . . what the hell.

It was just a mistletoe kiss . . . or, he eyed it again . . . a half dead fern kiss. Whatever he called it, it was a legitimate excuse to act on one harmless little urge.

And before he allowed himself to think about it anymore than that, he put his hand on Emily's shoulder and leaned down to plant a quick kiss on her lips.

It turned out to perhaps not be quite so quick as he'd planned . . . the alcohol and six months of celibacy might have tacked an extra twelve or fifteen seconds on there . . . but it was still fairly chaste.

Certainly mouths stayed shut.

Then he pulled back and looked down at her. When her lashes fluttered open he squeezed her shoulder as his lip quirked up, "if you ever tell this story to JJ or Garcia make sure that the fern is indeed mistletoe and that this happened downstairs and not upstairs with us alone behind a closed door."

Though he stood by his assessment that there was nothing inherently inappropriate in a mistletoe kiss, it was best that the story at least include ACTUAL mistletoe and not a dead houseplant.

Emily laughed as she reached up to wipe the smudge of red gloss from his lips, "got it sir!"

That was a pretty good kiss! Certainly way better than she'd been expecting for a quickie little mistletoe one.

Hotch flashed her a dimple as he turned back to grab their empty glasses and the bottle off the small table. Then he tipped his head towards the door.

"After you."

That was nice. The kissing was nice. Though as he thought about the last woman that he'd kissed he started to feel that wave of depression roll up again.

But he pushed it down.

He didn't want to ruin the moment. It was the first time in a long time that he'd done something so simplistically pleasant as kiss an attractive woman.

Even if the kiss didn't really mean anything, it was still a moment he wanted to hold onto a little longer.

After Emily grabbed her heels off the floor they stepped out of the library and started back down the hall. As they walked along Hotch shifted his eyes down to her. Part of him really wanted to ask her if she'd like to get something to eat. But they didn't really do that, hang out together. He didn't do that with anyone actually.

Basically he just worked and went home and worked some more.

And until the women had guilted him into attending the Christmas party, that had been his plan for today too. It was Christmas Eve and he'd been planning on doing nothing but work on case files.

They were in the car.

And now he didn't really want to flip through crime scene photos . . . he really didn't want to do that at all . . . but he was afraid that as soon as he was alone again that he'd fall right back into his routine. So maybe . . . he bit his lip as he looked over at Prentiss again . . . it wouldn't be so awful if he asked her if she wanted to get something to eat.

It would kill a few more hours and then he could go home and go to bed. And then tomorrow he'd get to see Jack. Not first thing in the morning, but he did have his son in the afternoon. So that was something to look forward to.

The trick now was to just keep his spirits from dragging again, to try to keep the focus on the good thing coming . . . Jack . . . as opposed to the bad things that had already happened . . . the disintegration of his family unit.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, Prentiss bumped his arm.

"Hey," she said softly, "you wouldn't want to stop and get a bite to eat would you? I know it's kind of late but um," she bit her lip, "well, I don't really have any plans until tomorrow night. Dinner at my folks."

Though she really didn't have a clue what Hotch was doing for Christmas, she kind of figured from his generally melancholy state all week that if he was seeing his son at all it was going to be for a fairly minimal amount of time.

For a second Hotch didn't say anything, as many times as it had happened it always kind of threw him when she seemed to read his mind. Then he looked down at her with a little smile.

"Sure, I'd like that."

As she beamed at him he couldn't help flashing a dimple in return. "Though," a thought occurred to him, "I think we have to stick around a little longer. A half a bottle of wine and two beers on an empty stomach probably would not be conducive to safe driving."

That little observation dampened the wattage of Emily's smile as her brow wrinkled slightly, "oh yeah, that's true."

She'd kind of forgotten about the driving part. But she really didn't want to stick around any longer. She and Hotch had finished off the bottle of wine, she'd gotten her mistletoe kiss, and by Emily's thinking, this part of the evening was over.

And she wanted it over now before something happened to mess it up. Again, she was going for a high note here.

Just as Hotch started towards the staircase a thought popped into her head.

"I saw a coffee shop not far from here. You know, just before we got to Dave's cul de sac, I think it said they had Christmas Eve hours. Maybe we could walk down there and get some coffee, by the time we got back we'd be all sobered up."

Hotch's looked down at her sympathetically, "it's kind of cold out you know. Plus," his eyes dropped down to her heels dangling off her fingers, "you don't really want to walk in those, do you?"

Though he appreciated the sentiment . . . a short brisk walk and a cup of coffee was probably just what he needed . . . with her uncharacteristically dressed in a skirt and heels, she wasn't really dressed for extended outdoor activities. But seeing the wrinkle of disappointment in her brow as she looked down at her outfit, he thought of a compromise.

"How about we take a walk around the block and see how that goes?"

Emily looked up at him with a little smile, "yeah," she patted his arm, "that sounds good. I think I just need twenty minutes and a little fresh air and I'll be fine."

And if she wasn't then she'd just sit outside until she was.

"Okay," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as they started down the staircase.

"A walk around the block it is."

* * *

_A/N 2: I kept hitting points here where I could have ended it and then decided what the hell, I'd stay with them a little longer. So there will be a part two to tie off the evening._

_Kavi and I have been tidying up the prompts forum and as I was looking over the ones I hadn't done yet I had this image of them having a mistletoe kiss under a droopy fern. And that of course it was all Emily's idea. I could have made it a total one shot stand alone but I liked the idea of putting it as part of the Girl'verse just because there would be some context for their warmer off screen relationship. Plus I figured Hotch had a pretty lousy Christmas that year and I thought he deserved a couple of hours of distraction from what was most likely a fairly crushing depression over spending the holidays without his wife and son. And after I looked over chapter 34 in Girl, (which takes place three weeks later with them actually making out in the bathroom), I saw there was nothing in either of their thoughts there that precluded them having had a harmless, completely UNromantic, "mistletoe" kiss around the holidays. Again, almost six months separated I figure Girl Hotch (with a couple drinks in him) would be able to rationalize such an action to himself as being a harmless diversion._

_It was interesting popping back into their old days pre hot and heavy bathroom make out. Even though they were very fond of one another, back then they still had that slight barrier between them. I actually think this chapter adds something to Girl because there's more of their personal feelings for one another (and their respective life situations) than I'd been able to work into the canon episode chapters. This one definitely now would set up the circumstances that led to what happened when he got the divorce papers._

_It's clear that Dave being successful author guy (riding around in a limo on his book tour) has to have money, serious money. And he doesn't spend it on clothes (!) so I decided that he'd have bought himself a nice house. That's what I'd do. If you had the money to buy just a perfect place and put in all the stuff you wanted, paid for up front with no debt or mortgage, why wouldn't you do that? And I definitely think he'd have a wine cellar, and I think he'd have a gun collection. That's my take on Dave, other people might have different takes but I think mine is "consistent" with what we know of him. And I know we've been to his house once but all we've ever seen of his home (I think) was that little snippet from his first episode. And that was so minimal I just kind of built on what we didn't see. It's not a mansion, just one of those really big houses you see in the new developments. _

_I gave Dave the big family in the chapter revolving around Garcia being shot. I thought this was a good place to let them make a little cameo. I have this idea for a larger offshoot story (spinning off The Hours) that would be JJ/Rossi so this was kind of a good place to start expanding some Girl background on Dave's life. _

_My brain totally went off on this unplanned, unexpected tangent and I didn't end up cleaning up any of the stuff I'd actually intended to get up this weekend. So funny I can write 10,000 words out of the blue on THIS, yet it's been like a month since I posted on Girl proper and that next chapter is barely a FIFTH the size of this one! Yeah, I don't get it either._

_Sometime this week I'll get the rest of it up. I really would like to get the next regular Girl chapter tidied up for the next posting anywhere._

_**Prompt Announcement**__: Kavi and I are putting up a new forum sometime this week. It will be challenges related to authors and book/short story titles. First up: Stephen King! So if you're interested in new prompts, you'll be able to link to it off our profiles. Like the TV Prompt, we'll include a thread where people can suggest their own titles too._

_As always, big thanks for all the feedback. I'm way behind on responses but I'm hoping to get back to everyone by the weekend :) And Friday is my birthday! I'll save you the next chapter of Fracture as a post for the big holiday that exists solely in my mind ;)_


	2. Holiday on Ice

**Author's Note**: The muse went away for a few days, but fortunately she came back again last night. You know the first time she left, like six months after I started writing, I thought that was it. Whatever this was, it was an aberration and that part of my brain had shut down again. Arc can attest that I was very depressed. Fortunately I have since learned that if I'm patient and don't stress, that my brain works these things out a little faster :)

And per usual, she came back raring to go. My little Christmas Eve two shot, has now become a three shot. So there will be one more after this one.

* * *

**Prompt Set #13**

**Show**: The Jeffersons

**Title:** Bobbles, Bangles & Boo Boos

* * *

**Holiday on Ice**

Dave looked up as he saw Hotch and Emily stepping through the far door and back into the great room.

His eyes widened in surprise.

It had been at least two hours since he'd seen either of them. so he'd assumed that they'd both slipped out. Not that he would have blamed them. He knew that Hotch was running pretty short on the holiday spirit . . . it had been a miracle that the girls had gotten him to come at all . . . and Emily, she'd been pretty pissed off earlier at his dumbass nephew.

Rossi gritted his teeth as he thought back to what had happened earlier in the night. Antony wasn't a bad kid really but he couldn't hold his liquor. And he fancied himself a ladies man.

That was a bad combination.

It was actually lucky for him that Emily hadn't done more than slam him against the wall. Dave had only known her for a few months but he had learned already that she had a bit of a temper on her.

Though honestly, Dave couldn't think of one woman in his own family that wouldn't have hauled off and socked a guy in the face for grabbing her ass. That's why Dave had had no problem whatsoever telling his sister-in-law Anna what her son had done.

_She_ was the one that had boxed Antony's ear before he was sent back out to apologize to Emily.

And though Emily had accepted the apology, and Dave had made sure to go over after and _again_ say he was sorry_,_ she'd still seemed a little thrown off.

He'd felt terrible thinking that perhaps the night had been ruined for her.

But then she'd started chatting with some people and she'd seemed better so he'd stopped keeping an eye on her.

Actually the last time he'd seen her was with Hotch when they were heading off to the wine cellar. And as he saw them heading towards the front hall now, it was clear to him that they both appeared to be in slightly better spirits than they had been when he'd seen them earlier.

Hotch even had a faint smile on his face as Emily leaned up to whisper something in his ear.

Good . . . Dave nodded approvingly . . . he'd observed that Hotch seemed to perk up a bit when it was just him and Emily alone together. Not a lot, but the poor bastard had been so depressed lately that any spark of life was encouraging. And now it appeared they were on their way out.

He hurried over to catch up with them before they left.

"Hey," he put his hand on Emily's back as he stepped up beside them, "you guys find the wine cellar okay?"

Given the stain he could see on the material covering Emily's left boob he was assuming yes.

Emily nodded, "yeah, thanks." Then she gave him a sheepish smile, "I hope you don't mind but we finished another bottle of the Allegrini."

Though she knew it wasn't a cheap label, Dave had at least another half dozen bottles of it in the cellar. That's why she hadn't felt too guilty polishing it off.

But of course she was Catholic so she had to feel a little bit guilty about everything.

Dave waved his hand dismissively, "no, of course not. I told Hotch for you guys to help yourself to whatever. So are you taking off?"

If so it was a bit curious that they were taking off together.

Hotch shook his head, "not quite yet. We're going for a walk first but we're leaving after that," then he added drily, "did you think I'd leave without saying goodbye Dave?"

Of course he would, and as he saw Emily smirk and Dave chuckle Hotch knew full well that they knew it too. But then Emily diverted attention off of him and his occasionally anti-social tendencies as she patted Dave's hand patronizingly, "_I'd_ say goodbye Dave."

Though in actuality she was on her way out the door, she would have poked her head back in before they left for the night.

Rossi kissed Emily's cheek as he chuckled, "thanks honey, now hold on," he opened his front closet and lifted out Emily and Hotch's wool coats where he'd hidden them in the back, "bundle up, it's cold out."

Hotch took his coat from Dave's hand, slipping it on as Dave held up Emily's for her.

As she put her arm out Hotch took note of something that was about to slow this process down.

"Prentiss," he said flatly, and Emily looked at him to see he was pointing at the strappy heels still dangling off her other wrist.

"Oh right, ha!" She barked a laugh as she put her hand on his arm to steady herself while she slipped on her heels again. When she looked back up at Hotch she saw him rolling his eyes at her and she smirked, "better be careful there Hotch, you keep rolling your eyes at me like that and they're liable to pop out. And then where will you be? Eyeball less, that's where, and then . . ."

"Prentiss," Hotch winced, "I beg of you, please do not continue your tale of what will become of me once my ocular cavities have been excavated. Now," he took the coat from the amused Rossi's still waiting hands, "come on before Santa shows up and I drop you in his sleigh to get you a ride home."

"Well," Emily held her arm up for Hotch as she said thoughtfully, "I imagine Santa would have some cookies on him so I'd at least get something to eat out of the deal."

It took all of Hotch's willpower to restrain the additional eyeroll that wanted to follow that statement. Instead he simply clenched his jaw as he helped her on with her coat. Then he turned to look at Dave, who . . . Hotch discovered . . . now had a huge grin on his face.

"What?" he scowled as he pulled his scarf from his pocket, "do you also have something to say on the subject of Santa or my eyeballs?"

Dave huffed as he looked between the visibly annoyed Hotch and the oblivious Emily who was fastening her last button.

"Ah, no," he stepped over to open the front door, "I'm good. And if I don't see you two again before you leave, thanks for coming and have a Merry Christmas."

Emily smiled at him before she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"Thanks for having the party Dave, this was fun."

It hadn't been fun before but . . . she shot a grin at Hotch . . . the evening had definitely taken a good turn.

Seeing the smile Emily gave him, Hotch's irritation melted and he couldn't stop his lips from twitching slightly in return.

Sometimes her enthusiasm was infectious.

But in this instance, she was right . . . he had actually had a good time with her. Though Prentiss might occasionally drive him nuts . . . the eyeball story for instance . . . there was no doubt in his mind that she was the sole reason that he'd enjoyed himself at all that night. And the only reason he had spent the evening with her was because of this party.

Dave's party.

So he turned to shake his friend's hand firmly.

"Yes Dave, thank you for having us tonight. This was uh," his gaze fell to the carpet runner for a moment before he looked back up, "this was nice."

Emily's lip quirked up slightly at Hotch's announcement . . . "nice" was as close as Hotch would get to the word "fun." But given how much effort it had taken to get him to even come out tonight, she was particularly pleased that he'd made the concession that the effort had not been wasted.

They'd actually succeeded in giving him a decent Christmas Eve.

With a final wave goodbye to Dave . . . who winked in return . . . Emily stepped outside onto the front walk.

Brrr!

As Hotch followed Emily outside, he felt the blast of cold air hit his face. That's when he realized that the temperature had dropped considerably since they'd arrived earlier in the night.

Not to mention the wind was picking up.

And when he saw Emily shiver as she pulled her collar up, his expression softened slightly as he asked with concern, "are you sure you still want to go for a walk? It's much windier than it was earlier."

"Uh huh," she turned to him with a little smile, "the cold will clear my head."

Hotch tipped his head, "okay, if you're sure."

As they started down the path to the sidewalk, Emily shot him a shy smile, "besides, if you're gone who am I going to talk to in there?"

It was really weird that with four dozen party guests, her boss was the only person she'd had any real fun talking to tonight.

Hotch's eyebrow went up as he pulled on his gloves.

"I thought I saw you making the rounds when I first arrived? Actually, weren't you talking to Dave's nephew for a few minutes?"

He thought that was who he'd seen her with. It was just after he'd arrived and settled on a corner of the living room where he felt it was least likely he'd be molested by holiday well wishers.

Flashing back on that lovely scene with Antony, Emily rolled her eyes as they stepped off the granite path and onto the sidewalk, "yes, you did see me talking to Dave's nephew but he was apologizing to me for grabbing my ass."

Hotch stopped short on the sidewalk as he blinked, "I'm sorry he was what?"

Emily knew that tone so she quickly turned back to shake her head at him.

"No, no, it's okay. I took care of it and then Dave took care of it. So there was that, and then there was about twenty minutes of hanging out with the team, then they started seeing people around the room and we slowly split up. Which left me with about forty minutes of tapping my heels in boredom as I looked around the living room." And then," she smiled at him, "you offered to help me find a bottle of wine. So you see, I really wasn't having much fun until you arrived."

Saying those words aloud, Emily again realized just how strange the evening had been. Hotch, her ultra serious, often ultra humorless, of late, severely depressed boss, had truly been the only fun part of tonight's outing.

Weird.

Hotch huffed slightly when he started walking again, "Prentiss, if you're considering ME the life of the party then perhaps you need to think about expanding your social circle."

Hearing Emily's soft chuckle from his side, Hotch felt one of his dimples slip out.

Again, her good humor was infectious.

They continued walking along in companionable silence, both of them trying to avoid the icy patches on the sidewalk. A few inches of snow had fallen earlier in the week but it wasn't enough to shovel so most people had just let it melt. Which was fine, most of it had indeed melted.

But it hadn't all evaporated. And now there were slick spots that had just been puddles earlier in the night.

They were glistening in the glow from the street lamps.

Hotch was trying to be mindful of Emily and her heels so as they walked he was keeping one eye down in front of them to make sure she didn't slip. He'd seen the woman stumble over dry pavement so he saw nothing good at all coming from her association with black ice.

As Emily sidestepped another frozen puddle she was racking her brain trying to think of something to talk about. Though the obvious conversational point would be their plans for the holiday, she felt quite sure that asking him what he was doing would only make him sad. And this was the first time all week that he hadn't had a cloud hanging over him so she was trying to be particularly sensitive to potential topics that might inadvertently bring him down again.

Then suddenly her eyes lit up as she saw a star shoot across the sky.

"Oh!" she impulsively grabbed his arm, "make a wish!"

Hotch stopped and looked down at her in confusion, "what?"

"A wish," she squeezed his forearm, "now, make one! Didn't you see the shooting star? If you want to make a wish it has to be right now or it won't come true."

At least that's what Gram Prentiss had taught her. Emily had very few memories of her grandmother but that one had always stuck with her so she tried to remember to follow the rule.

Hotch stared at her for a moment . . . he too had seen the array of light in the sky but he hadn't thought much about it. And he was about to tell her that she was being ridiculous. But then his expression softened slightly as he saw that she was seriously waiting for him to acknowledge her request. And he turned, looked back up at the sky and then back down to her again.

A wish.

He hadn't wished on a star since he was a young boy. He had stopped believing in such things decades ago. But seeing the excitement on Emily's face he knew that he could never be so cruel as to say that to her. And then he paused for a moment as he took stock of the dismal state of his personal life.

Oh, what the hell. It really couldn't hurt anything to throw a little wish out into the cosmos and see what came flying back at him.

So he looked back up to the heavens and made one small wish.

That everyone he loved would stay safe.

Of course he could have wished for Haley to come back to him, for his family to be put back together again. But somehow . . . even though he didn't really believe in this kind of thing . . . it seemed selfish to ask for something just for himself.

If you're going to throw a wish up to the heavens it should be something greater than your personal desires.

His gaze fell back down to Emily at his side. She was looking up expectantly at him, "did you do it?"

Though she knew that probably wasn't something that he believed in, Emily was a firm believer that every little bit helps. And good God if anyone needed a little luck from up on high it was Aaron Hotchner!

Hotch shot her a dimple, "I did." And she grinned back, "good."

They started walking again, and then a few minutes later he looked down at her and his lip quirked up slightly.

She was watching the sky.

"You know Prentiss," he teased, "it seems unlikely you're going to get another one tonight. And if you do then you'll know that most likely we're witnessing a meteor shower and I'm pretty sure that there's no song about 'wishing upon a falling meteor,' so that's going to negate our earlier wishes."

Emily's lips started to twitch as she turned to look at him, "are you mocking me, sir?"

"Not at all," he followed her gaze back to the open sky before he said softly, "sometimes though, it's best to quit while you're ahead."

After she considered Hotch's words Emily tipped her head, "I suppose there is some merit to your statement."

Emily was just about to ask him what he wished for when suddenly her feet went out from under her.

Crap . . . icy patch!

But rather than going down hard as she'd expected, she landed in a heap on top of Hotch. She looked down at him lying on the sidewalk and she felt a little jolt of panic.

Shit!

She immediately reached up to touch his temple as she asked worriedly, "did you hit your head?!"

Having been a klutz since before she could walk . . . her father enjoyed telling the story where she crawled into a wall at nine months . . . Emily was not at all fazed to find herself flat on the ground.

She hit the deck at least three times every winter.

Of course she didn't usually have a nice soft Hotch to break her fall though. She just hoped he hadn't broken his head in the process of breaking her fall.

Slightly stunned at finding himself on his back . . . with Prentiss lying on top of him . . . Hotch slowly shook his head as he groaned, "no, no head's fine." Then his eyes flicked over to hers as he added in annoyance, "you know this is what happens when you focus on celestial matters rather than the more pressing safety concerns on the terrestrial plane."

If she hadn't distracted him with the star gazing then he would have seen the ice before they stepped on it.

Emily stared at him, mouth agape, "are you saying this is MY fault?!"

How is black ice on the sidewalk HER fault!? She didn't work for the Parks Department!

His brow knitted together as he scowled at her, "well, what are the odds that if I'd gone for a walk with Morgan that I would have ended up prostrate on the sidewalk?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Hotch realized what he'd said.

Crap. There was no way she was going to let _that_ one go!

And sure enough, Emily's lips started to twitch, "sir, what you and Morgan do on your personal time is your business. But if he really loved you, he'd at least wait until you got to the car."

They stared at each other for a moment, Hotch attempting to glare as she tried not to burst out laughing. And then Emily lost her battle and a second later Hotch abandoned his attempt to be annoyed.

The longer he knew her, the harder it was to ever get genuinely angry with her.

His mouth quivered slightly as he shook his head, "the things that come out of your mouth Prentiss," then he shot her an eyebrow, "are they designed to send me to an early grave or is that just a bonus for you?"

Emily snorted, "oh come on sir, you can't set me up like that and not expect a comment. Now," she started to push herself back, "as much fun as lying on top of you has been," she ignored the eyeroll she got for that, "my legs are freezing."

And this is why skirts sucked in the winter. Ideally she'd have on some sort of padded snowsuit when she was walking around on an icy sidewalk.

But sadly they weren't very fashionable for everyday wear.

As Emily moved off of him, Hotch pushed himself up to a sitting position, "hold on, let me get up first."

He had visions of her stepping on the ice again in her heels and breaking her face on the sidewalk. For someone that he knew was a bit klutzy he would have thought that she could fall better than she had. But as it was she'd just ended up with her nose pressed into his coat before she caught herself with her hand on his other side.

If he hadn't been lying between her and the concrete pavement she would have ended up in the emergency room.

Wait . . . his brow wrinkled as he suddenly remembered his falling star wish . . . could that have actually worked? Could that wish to keep them safe have kept her out of the ER?

No . . . he berated himself . . . don't be stupid. It was just luck that they fell the way they did.

_Wasn't it?_

Emily was about to protest that she was fine getting up by herself when she actually looked at the ground around them.

They had apparently kept their balance for a moment for the first step out onto the ice. Because as she looked back she saw they were now in the middle of a smooth patch of frozen water running for the next three feet in front of them. There were ripples on the side so Emily figured it had to have been runoff from something.

Possibly some idiot hosing dirt off their front walk.

But however it had happened, it would be a miracle if she could maneuver off of it without falling down again. Though it would be extremely undignified, she knew that worst case there was always the option of crawling off on her hands and knees.

Then she snorted to herself as she watched Hotch slowly push himself up off the ground . . . she'd just fallen face first onto her boss' sternum. If they were going for undignified that definitely won the prize for the evening!

Once Hotch was vertical again he took two small, cautious . . . slippery . . . steps back before he was close enough to put his foot on bare pavement again. Then he turned and looked back at Emily on her knees looking at him. Her eyebrow quirked up, "well fearless leader, how are we doing this?"

Hotch's jaw twitched back and forth for a second as he considered the best approach, then he put one foot back on the ice, making sure to shift his weight to the other one.

"Okay," he leaned forward and put his hand out, "can you reach?"

If not she was going to have to move forward a bit on the ice, because if he moved any further in he was going down again. Except most likely she'd be breaking his fall, and then they'd DEFINITELY end up in the emergency room.

Fortunately it was clear that Emily was on the same wavelength and she did indeed shuffle herself forward a bit on her knees so she could reach his hand.

Once he had a firm grip on her he said, "okay, I'm going to pull you up, it's really slippery so just try to stay upright, I'll do the rest."

Emily took a breath and nodded, "got it."

_Good God, you'd think they'd wandered into the Amazon and he was rescuing her from a pool of quicksand!_

After Emily had pushed himself up from her knees to a crouch, Hotch braced himself and then yanked her off the ground and into his arms.

She ended up with her face mooshed into his chest again.

Emily looked up at him as she rubbed her nose, "is it possible to get rug burn on your face?" then she rolled her eyes, "scratch that, disregard."

She'd just set herself up as well as he had with the Derek comment.

As Hotch stepped away from her with an amused shake of his head, he noticed her wincing slightly and he immediately sobered up.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, "Did I hurt your arm?"

"No," Emily shook her head as she leaned over, "it's my knees. I think I might have scraped them when I fell," she pushed aside the seam of her wool coat to look down.

Oh crap.

Hotch hissed, "Jesus, Prentiss."

Her stockings were ripped and both of her knees were scraped and bloody.

Emily bit her lip as she pulled back the torn nylon, "yeah, they are kind of stinging a bit."

They actually were starting to hurt like a bastard. When she first fell the cold must have numbed them a bit, but the numbing was most definitely wearing off. Probably sliding on them afterwards hadn't helped either.

"Okay, well," Hotch's nose wrinkled in sympathy, "come on," he put his arm up, "let's go back to Dave's and clean you up."

As Emily stepped in front of him with roll of her eyes, Hotch shook his head . . . why was every outing with her an adventure?

They began the return trip in silence. They'd walked about five blocks initially and he noticed as they finished the first return block that she was starting to limp slightly and he again winced in sympathy. Then he looked ahead of them to see how much farther they had to go.

Aways. He couldn't even see Dave's house from where they were.

A thought came to him but he immediately dismissed it. It would be . . . well, not unprofessional (she was injured) but it would be a little strange.

So they walked along another block with him slowing his steps so she wouldn't have to hurry.

But then she suddenly stopped and he could hear the embarrassment in her voice as she said softly, "I think I need to rest for a second."

Emily ground her teeth as she reached down to gently feel around her right knee . . . yep, it was starting to swell. She lifted her head to see how much farther they had to walk.

She pouted . . . far.

With a disgusted sigh she straightened up again . . . no use thinking about it. It's not like there was another option here she was just going to have to . . .

And whoa, okay, what's happening here?!

Hotch had just picked her up.

So not expecting that.

She turned her head to look at him . . . his face was two inches away . . . and he sighed, "it's obvious that you're in pain Prentiss and your steps are getting slower with every block. And it's not going to do you any good limping along the rest of the way. So," he shifted her in his arms as he started walking, "my apologies for taking liberties, but I figured this would be best."

Ordinarily he would not be so familiar, but she was injured and at the pace they were moving it would have taken _another_ fifteen minutes to get back to Dave's.

Also, he had just kissed the woman under a dead fern so clearly he'd already made a major exception to the personal boundaries guidelines tonight. Therefore he felt a bit more comfortable than he usually would have about scooping her up off the ground.

For a second Emily considered protesting that she was fine . . . but she really wasn't. The scrapes were nothing, but she'd apparently banged the hell out of her right knee and the more she tried to walk on it (in heels) the worse it was hurting.

Her steps were seriously starting to drag.

And though it was a bit embarrassing needing Hotch's help . . . she sighed as she slung her arm around his neck . . . it could have been worse.

She could have been out with Reid. And there's no way that he could have picked her up.

As he heard Emily snort Hotch raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her, "what?"

Her lip quirked up, "I was just picturing what Reid would have done in this situation."

Hotch huffed, "well for one thing, I think he'd still be lying flat on the ice back there," he added drolly, "you came down pretty hard."

Emily's amusement quickly morphed to anger as she scowled at him, "are you calling me FAT!"

SO not the thing you wanted to hear from the man that was hauling your ass down the street!

"WHAT?! NO!" Hotch shook his head in horror, "NOT AT ALL!"

Realizing that his words had just echoed back at him from around the neighborhood, Hotch tried to even out his tone before somebody yelled at them to keep it down.

"I'm just saying," he said slowly, "that Reid's got a little less . . . padding on him."

The kid was like a string bean. Though Hotch knew he was stronger than he looked . . . he was wiry . . . Emily still would have flattened him.

Emily's brow wrinkled as she looked at him in confusion, "so what, are you now calling _yourself_ fat? Because I'd have to seriously disagree there Hotch."

What the hell was he talking about?

Hotch stopped, closed his eyes and counted to ten . . . God give him strength.

When he looked at Emily again he saw the same befuddled wrinkle on her forehead and his exasperation faded.

The Prentiss Package . . . ridiculousness and all . . . was what was keeping him from sitting alone on Christmas Eve in his month to month rental drinking a warm beer as he read over autopsy reports from around the country.

So he took a breath and answered her calmly, "I didn't mean that I was fat Prentiss, I meant that Reid had minimal muscle mass."

"Oh," Emily smiled, "well yeah, of course," then she gave him a funny look, "why didn't you just say that?"

Duh . . . she shook her head slightly as she looked back down the street . . . the man really needed to work on his communication skills.

Again Hotch counted to ten. Then he shook his head and started walking again. A few minutes later Emily started pointing out the holidays displays on people's lawns and his eyes crinkled slightly.

As unconventional holiday activities went this evening definitely took the cake. But as he bit his lip to keep from laughing at her assessment of the "demonic holiday lighting of the worshipers of the Prince of Darkness" . . . they'd opted for a red candle theme in all their windows which was "seriously creeping" Emily out . . . Hotch couldn't deny that this was not a bad evening.

It wasn't his life as it was before, but all things considered . . . he got a whiff of Emily's perfume as she turned her head . . . it was okay.

After they passed a very tacky plastic Rudolph display, Emily saw Dave's house come into view again and she turned to look at Hotch.

"Thanks for the lift sir but I think I should probably hobble from here. If Derek sees that I went for a simple walk around the block and then had to be carried back to the house, I'm really never going to hear the end of it."

Hotch shook his head dismissively as he continued walking, "it's barely ten. Nobody's leaving Dave's house for another hour. And there's still another half block so it's highly unlikely we'll be seeing anyone from this distance. Besides that though," he scowled slightly, "if we do happen to see Derek you just leave him to me."

Sometimes Hotch was bothered by their familial teasing. Though he knew it was never malicious . . . or hardly ever, they were like squabbling siblings and sometimes they did aim to wound . . . occasionally he had seen a flicker of hurt or discomfort on someone's face during what would otherwise seem to be a jovial exchange. He knew that not all of his agents were quite so confident socially as the others. And . . . unintended though it may be . . . he didn't like to see their feelings hurt.

Emily stared at Hotch for a second before she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

His eyebrow went up and she wiped away the lipstick smudge with her glove as she said softly, "sometimes you're very sweet sir," and then she pointed.

"Ice, three o'clock."

/*/*/*/*

When they got to Dave's front path, Hotch put Emily back on the ground to let her walk the rest of the way. Regardless of what he'd said about handling Derek, it's true that it would be EASIER . . . for both of them . . . if nobody saw him carrying her.

They'd just have to answer questions even if they weren't asked.

As they arrived at the front door Hotch was both relieved and bothered to find it unlocked. It wasn't exactly safe, but they were fortunately able to slip back inside without disturbing anyone at the house. Still though, party or not, he didn't like the idea of just anyone getting inside Dave's place . . . as he knew Dave himself wouldn't either . . . so Hotch turned the lock before he looked down at Emily.

"Bathroom?"

She was the one that had gone on the tour.

"Um," Emily closed her eyes for a moment as she pictured the layout of the house, "there's one here off the front hall but that's probably going to be busy." She eyed the steps distastefully, "but there's also one in the upstairs hall too."

Great . . . she looked up the grand staircase . . . this should be fun.

But . . . she put her hand on Hotch's arm again so she could take off her shoes . . . at least now she could get these things off.

Hotch stood quietly as Emily slipped her heels off and then put his hand on her back as they started up the stairs.

Ordinarily of course he would not be so continually tactile with her . . . fern kissing or not, he had strict rules about touching . . . but given her hobbling, she clearly needed the physical support. And his touching female agent rules of course included exceptions for various circumstances.

Physical disability being one of them.

When they reached the top of the front staircase Emily stopped for a second to rest . . . damn knee was throbbing. Then she turned left and started counting along doors until she'd reached the one that she thought was the bathroom.

It turns out it wasn't.

And after a quick, "oops, sorry folks!" to the couple having some freaky sex on the bed, Emily slammed the door shut as she turned to Hotch with an awkward smile.

"I guess I counted wrong."

And EWWW! Gross! She didn't think that move would look good on anyone but that was just SO not an attractive couple!

"I guess so," Hotch responded drily as he moved on to the next door in the hall. "So how about we," he rapped his knuckles twice on the heavy wood as he shot her a look, "_knock_ first this time."

That was quite disgusting. Not to mention he had just seen a disturbing amount of back hair. And the frightening thing was, he was pretty sure it hadn't all been on the man!

Hearing no response from the next room, Hotch cautiously opened the door, "hello?"

Excellent . . . he pushed the door all the way . . . empty and it was indeed a bathroom.

It was a good size too, with a shower enclosure, granite counters and a claw tub. Given that Hotch didn't see Dave as a 'luxurious soak after a long day' type, he presumed this hall bathroom was solely for the use of any houseguests.

And . . . he dropped his coat on top of the hamper . . . that is indeed what they were. For a second he eyed the open door trying to decide if open or closed would be better.

Then he decided that . . . though they needed a bit of privacy . . . totally closed would probably not look good. So he settled on halfway.

They'd at least have some warning before somebody barged in on them.

Emily dropped her own coat on top of his before hobbling past him to go sit down on the bathtub. And Hotch . . . finally seeing an opportunity to be proactive and take control of the situation . . . immediately went about searching the medicine cabinet for bandages and disinfectant.

After a minute he'd found a pack of band aids but nothing to prevent infection.

His jaw twitched as he looked over at Emily wincing as she balanced on the edge of the tub while she rolled down her stockings.

He turned back, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to picture where else Dave would keep such a thing. Then he had a thought and he stooped down to open the cabinet under the sink.

And there in the back . . . behind the bathroom cleaner and paper towel . . . he found an unopened bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Perfect.

When he turned back he saw Emily feeling around the red bump that he could see on her left knee. With her legs bare and knees scraped she seemed so young and vulnerable that he felt a wave of affection for her, suddenly picturing what she must have been like as a child of Jack's age.

Because he had no doubt . . . he knelt down in front of her . . . that Emily Rose Prentiss had had many a scraped knee as a small girl.

Emily watched warily as Hotch unscrewed the bottle of alcohol and picked up a roll of toilet paper. Then she wrinkled her nose as he poured one onto the other.

Oh man . . . she bit the inside of her cheek . . . this was going to hurt.

"This is going to hurt," Hotch said sympathetically as he looked back at her. And she nodded, "yep, I got that much from the visceral recoil I felt as I saw you soak those three squares of Charmin."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, "ready when you are sir."

Hotch paused for a second, wishing he could think of some way to make this go a little better. Poking her with the alcohol soaked toilet paper was going to be painful each time he touched a different part of the wound.

And he had to do both knees. It was going to take a couple minutes to clean everything properly and he didn't relish causing her that much pain.

Then another idea came to him . . . soapy water first, THEN disinfectant.

It wouldn't sting so much.

"I just had a better idea," he screwed the cap back on the rubbing alcohol before he put his hand out to her, "up."

Trusting Hotch implicitly, Emily did little more than scrunch up her nose as he pulled her to her feet. Then he let go of her hand, turning to put the alcohol down as he patted the bathroom counter, "sit up here."

It was a better height for him to do this, otherwise he'd be dripping water all over the floor.

Emily looked at him, and then back at the counter as her nose wrinkled, "it's kind of high."

In her bare feet it wasn't really a hoppable height. It was more of a, 'hey does anyone have a step stool,' height.

Hotch looked between Emily and the counter, "you're right," he pushed the soap dispenser against the wall before he turned back and picked Emily up by the waist and placed her on the counter.

There . . . he reached over to turn on the hot water . . . height issue resolved.

Emily's lips twitched slightly as she found herself in the new elevated position. This must be what he was like with his son.

Dad mode.

Suddenly she pictured this intense, serious man tending to "boo boos" and "owies" with the little boy she'd seen in the pictures on his desk.

She felt an ache in her chest.

Poor Hotch. She had no children but still, the thought of having one and then having her child taken away was heartbreaking. And as she watched as he soaped up a facecloth to clean her cuts . . . at that moment Emily really wanted to punch Haley in the face.

But the urge passed as she remembered that she wasn't privy to the details of their breakup. She didn't know what had come before.

After Hotch squeezed out the soapy cloth he turned back to Emily . . . she was giving him a funny look.

"What?" He asked worriedly.

Did she think he'd been too forward in his assistance to her? Granted he wasn't generally inclined to go around picking up his agents (male or female) and repositioning them to his general satisfaction. But it was the fastest way to get this done.

He was hungry and wanted to get out of there.

Emily shook her head as she quickly pulled out a soft smile, "nothing," she put her hand out, "I can do the rest."

Hotch's eyebrow shot up in amusement, "can you?" He handed her the cloth, "show me."

If nothing else this should be worth some amusement.

Emily took the cloth from his hand and reached down to clean up her knees . . . except . . . she couldn't see her knees.

Huh.

She could FEEL her knees and when she extended her legs she could SEE her knees, but she couldn't stretch her arm far enough to both see and touch at the same time without some major twisting.

After thirty seconds of trying to think of a way to clean up without falling off the counter she put the facecloth back into Hotch's waiting hand.

"Maybe it would be easier if you did it."

The only way she could do it herself was if she stood up and balanced on one leg while she rested the other on the counter. That's how she'd do it at home if she was by herself.

But this was a high countertop, and to do it that way would require a bit more contorting than Emily really was in the mood for at the moment.

Also, she had images of losing her balance while standing on one leg. That would be a nice view though for Hotch as she went ass over teakettle onto the tile floor.

In her skirt.

"Yes," Hotch stated flatly as he took the wet facecloth from her, "maybe it would be easier if I did it."

Though he would have been quite impressed if she had been able to accomplish that feat, it was rather unlikely. So he put one hand on the side of her calf and with the other began gently dabbing at the abraded flesh.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as he felt her tense up.

It wasn't as bad as the rubbing alcohol but he knew that it was still going to sting a little bit.

"No, no, it's okay," Emily bit her lip as he moved lower, "thanks for helping."

This was the second time Hotch had dressed her wounds for her. Though fortunately she didn't make a regular habit of this service. In fact as she remembered the other time had been almost a year ago, when she'd had that coffee pot incident in the break room. She only remembered the day so clearly because it was the time her mother had come into the office with a dismembered finger.

That was the kind of event that tended to stick out in your mind.

Hotch shook his head dismissively as he turned to rinse out the cloth, "no thanks necessary," he moved to the other knee, his expression warming as he looked back up at her, "after all it's the least I can do for leading you out onto that patch of ice."

On their way back to Dave's . . . as she was chattering about the inflatable frosty . . . Hotch had started to feel guilty, realizing it was rather ridiculous to place responsibility for an ice spill at Emily's feet.

Just because she was accident prone on her own didn't mean that it was HER fault that they (both) hadn't been watching where they were going. And given that she was the one with the greater physical damage from their little accident, it was only right that he find some way to apologize for initially huffing at her when he'd found himself flat on his back.

Hearing the veiled apology in Hotch's words, Emily's lip quirked up, "well, I forgive you for nearly killing me sir."

"Good," he flashed a dimple. Then their eyes locked for a moment before Hotch realized that he had warm water running down his sleeve. He blinked and turned back to the matter at hand.

Getting her patched up.

"Prentiss," his fingers ghosted along the swelling around her knee, "we're going to need to ice this," he looked up, "you know if you can't run I'm going to have to pull you from field work."

Of course he was concerned about her well being, but field work was also a secondary concern. They were on call and if she wasn't completely fit then he couldn't risk her safety . . . or the team's . . . by putting her in a physical situation where she could be vulnerable to additional injury.

Emily rolled her eyes as she reached down to touch the bump again, her fingers brushing into his, "yeah, yeah, I know. But geez Hotch," she suddenly scowled, "I'm hungry and I just want to get OUT of here!"

Whatever bit of alcohol they'd had in their bloodstreams had most definitely dissipated by now! And now she just wanted to go!

Hotch narrowed his brow as gave Emily a quick visual appraisal . . . unlike him, she wasn't usually prone to angry outbursts when she was irritated about something. At least he'd never noticed that tendency before. Therefore he was deducing that she was either VERY hungry, or in actual pain.

Given they'd been planning on getting something to eat forty-five minutes ago . . . and he could also see the pinch in her brow and the way she was biting her lip . . . he figured it was a bit from column A and a bit from column B. So he turned back to the medicine cabinet and began rifling around again.

He didn't have any food on him but he could at least address the other item.

Emily looked over as Hotch started unscrewing the cap on the bottle of Tylenol.

Thank God! She'd just ended up poking the swelling by accident and had a corresponding stab of pain.

After he shook out two pills for Emily, Hotch shook out two for himself which he dry swallowed.

He hadn't been entirely forthcoming when she asked if he'd bumped his head. He had.

It hurt.

And . . . his fingers involuntarily moved up to the back of his scalp . . . he probably had his own bump up there. Eh . . . he dismissed it before he'd even made contact . . . he'd live.

When he took his hand down he turned on the tap to get Emily a drink to take her pills.

As Hotch handed her the water Emily noticed the red smudge on the outside of the wax cup.

"Hotch," she snapped her head up in alarm, "you're bleeding!"

"What?" Hotch's brow wrinkled in confusion and then he saw the smudge on the cup and he looked down at his fingers.

Just a smear.

He looked back at Emily and shrugged, "not much."

"Hotch," she rolled her eyes in exasperation, "this isn't 'not much' blood coming out of your finger, this is 'not much' blood coming out of your cranium. Now," she put the cup of water down next to her on the counter, "let me see how much, 'not much' really is."

It would so figure that he's all about fixing up her skinned knees and it turns out he actually busted his skull open.

"Prentiss," Hotch shot her a glare, "I'm _fine_. Now take your pills so we can finish up and get out of here."

Like a little bump on the head was worthy of an in-depth medical exam . . . by Emily no less!

Emily had stopped being afraid of those glares a long time ago. And they were especially ineffective when the big dummy was acting stubborn just for stubborn's sake.

So she simply scowled back at him, "Hotch, we don't KNOW that you're fine. Neither of us have actually _seen_ your scalp. We've just seen," she grabbed his wrist and held his fingers up in front of him, "that it's bleeding. Now let me see it or, I'll, I'll . . ."

She stammered for a second as she tried to think of any possible leverage she might have against him.

Then she had it, and her eyes lit up as she poked her finger in his face, "I'll tell Garcia and JJ that it was _your_ idea to kiss under a dead houseplant!"

There, that'll get him. Not that she'd really do that . . . she had no intention of telling anyone about their kiss . . . but it was all in the delivery. And that was her no bullshit tone. And she could see from the angry twitch of his jaw that he wasn't sure whether or not she was serious.

Hotch narrowed his eyebrows as he assessed the veracity of Emily's threat.

It was hard to say. It wasn't like her but . . .

And then he realized that he was being kind of stupid. If she wanted to look at the back of his head to see if he had a bad cut, why was he arguing? After all, he'd insisted on checking out her legs.

Okay . . . he scowled slightly . . . that sounded bad even in his head. Thank God he hadn't said it aloud or he'd never have heard the end of it.

Finally Emily saw Hotch roll his eyes and he turned around. Then he put his hand up to the back of his skull as he stooped down slightly.

"Right here," he grumbled, "and I'm sure it's nothing."

Given that he had folded much faster than she would have thought, Emily opted not to make a remark back to him on that. She just tossed the pills down her throat before she murmured, "move your fingers," and reached up herself to feel the back of his head.

_Hmm, his hair was really soft. _

Okay Em . . . she rolled eyes . . . you're not doing an aesthetic assessment of his grooming abilities, you're trying to see if his brains are leaking!

She scooted forward slightly on the counter so she could see better, then she gently parted his hair with her fingers, feeling for any wet spots.

Her brow wrinkled when her eyes finally came upon the small abrasion . . . the cut wasn't too bad, really just a slight break on the skin. It probably would have stopped bleeding completely by that point if it had been anywhere _but_ his scalp.

No, the cut wasn't the problem . . . she winced as she traced the outline of the bump UNDER the cut.

"Hotch," she said worriedly as one of her hands fell down to his back, "you really do have quite an egg here. Are you sure you feel okay? You're not nauseous or dizzy or anything, right?"

She knew that he knew all the head injury warning signs as well as she did. But she also knew that he was very stubborn. And he was more inclined to be dismissive to any injury he himself suffered as opposed to the rest of them.

For instance, if their positions were reversed and SHE was the one with a bloody bump on the back of her head, well, he'd probably have tossed her over his shoulder and dragged her off to the emergency room by now.

And that wasn't just conjecture, he'd done that exact thing six months ago out in Milwaukee. Well, not the exact thing . . . there was no shoulder tossing . . . but that was probably only because they had an ambulance on scene. But his behavior tonight had demonstrated that he had no problem whatsoever picking her up and hauling her somewhere if he thought she was hurt.

Hearing the concern in Emily's tone, Hotch reached up again, this time to actually feel the bump on the back of his head.

It was about a golf ball size. He'd certainly had much worse.

And when he turned around he was about to again dismiss Emily's worries. But then he saw her biting her lip and he could see that this was not simply a perfunctory inquiry, her concern was genuine.

So before he opened his mouth he took an objective physical inventory and determined that he really did just have a headache.

A slightly annoying headache of the 'throbbing around the injury' variety, but nothing alarming or unusual there. And definitely no nausea or spots.

He was still just hungry.

Once he'd done his internal assessment his expression warmed slightly, "Prentiss really," he said soothingly, "I feel fine. A little headache, no nausea, no dizziness or spots or anything else indicative of internal trauma."

Emily stared at him for a moment before she held her index finger up.

"Follow my finger," she commanded as she moved it slowly from one side to the other. And Hotch obliged her by tracking it with his eyes.

Once she brought her hand down again, his eyebrow quirked up as he gave her a small smile, "okay, Dr. Prentiss, am I clear?"

She smiled back, "yeah, I guess. Your pupils weren't spinning in opposite directions so I think they're working okay," she reached over to pick up the rubbing alcohol, "and given that you aren't dying of a slow internal bleed, I think we can finish up this crap now."

Hotch huffed slightly as he turned to get the toilet paper again. Then he once more doused a few squares before he looked at Emily.

"Ready?"

"Yep," she preemptively winced as he moved his hand over to dab her knee. But to her surprise it didn't hurt that much. Apparently . . . she had a sudden realization . . . that was Hotch's thought in having her move to the counter to wash it out with soap first.

She smiled at him . . . sweet.

And she sat there patiently . . . feeling very much like she was four years old . . . as he finished disinfecting her scrapes and placed band aids on each knee. Suddenly she flashed on her dad fixing her up just this way after she had a hopscotch incident when they were living in Romania.

When they were done he had carried her downstairs where he gave her a glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie even though Cook was making dinner.

Her lip quirked up . . . that was a good memory.

"Okay," Hotch sighed as he straightened up and looked at Emily, "all set. On the way out we'll just get some ice from the kitchen and then we can go."

Originally they would have each been taking their own cars but now Hotch figured he could drive and they could stop back afterwards to get her car.

"Great," Emily shimmied forward, "now we can eat!"

Just as she was about to slide off the counter Hotch took note of the gap between the floor and her dangling toes. So he stepped closer as he reached out to help her down . . . which was the exact moment that he heard a knock on the half closed door.

"Anyone in here?"

Reid pushed the door open and his eyes nearly fell out when he saw Emily and Hotch doing . . . he quickly looked to the ceiling . . . oh geez! Something VERY unexpected against the bathroom counter!

"HEY! WHOA! Sorry guys, I'll just . . ."

And he tried to back out the door.

"Spencer," Hotch called out loudly as he rolled his eyes, "you can come in!" He finished helping the chuckling Emily to the tile floor, "we're just leaving."

"Oh," Reid squeaked, "you're um . . . done?"

He was still staring at the ceiling. Still trying to unsee Hotch standing in front of Emily with his hands on her waist and her bare legs pressed against him.

That was even more upsetting than what he'd walked in on next door! At least those (bizarrely hairy) people were strangers!

Emily snorted as she and Hotch exchanged an eye roll. By unspoken agreement she spoke for both of them.

"If you mean by done," she said drily, "have we finished bandaging the knees I scraped on the ice out in the street? Then yes, yes Spencer, we're 'done'."

Did he honest to God think she and Hotch were SCREWING in Dave's upstairs bathroom!? As though there wouldn't be more comfortable places for such an activity?! Not that she was planning on having sex with Hotch . . . now or ever . . . but God, she certainly wouldn't be doing it in the bathroom of their friend's house with the damn door wide open!

At that, Reid snapped his eyes down to look at her, "ice . . . knees . . ." his gaze dropped even lower, ". . . oh."

Then he looked back up and saw that they were both fully dressed, not at all disheveled, and giving him an identical look. He believed Garcia called it the "WTF" look.

And she spelled out the W . . . T . . . and F via the phonetic alphabet.

Okay . . . his face started to get warm . . . he felt like an idiot. Of course they weren't having SEX on the bathroom counter! They were Hotch and Emily, not Derek and well, anyone else.

And even if they were going to do something so totally out of character Reid assumed that they'd probably at least shut the door!

Seeing the pink on Reid's face Hotch shook his head as he turned back to throw away the bandage wrappers, then he wiped off the water from the sink and where he'd dripped on the floor. When he was done he picked up their coats from the top of the hamper and Emily's heels and stockings from where she dropped them by the bathtub. The torn stockings went in the trash before looked up at her, "let's go."

With a quick nod, Emily took her shoes back, then she turned around to Spencer and rolled her eyes once more as she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"Merry Christmas hon."

She brushed the red lipstick off his cheek before she gave him a hug. A hug that he quickly reciprocated as he took the opportunity to whisper in her ear.

"Sorry for being stupid."

Emily smirked as she pulled back, "it's okay," she patted his cheek, "we forgive you for being stupid." She looked at Hotch over her shoulder, "right?"

"Yes," Hotch sighed as he stepped forward, "we forgive you for being stupid."

Really, he was just glad that it hadn't been Morgan or Rossi. One would have made his life hell, the other would have made Emily's life hell.

As Emily stepped out of the way Hotch shook Reid's hand, "Merry Christmas Spencer."

Reid's lip quirked up, "thanks, you too Hotch."

Then he stepped out of the way so the two of them could leave. His eyebrow quirked up slightly when he saw them stop at the end of the hall as Hotch helped Emily on with her coat. Before Reid could catalog the reasons behind Hotch's more solicitous than usual behavior, he suddenly again took note of the pressure on his bladder.

Right . . . he slammed the door shut . . . he still had to take a piss!

/

Hotch slipped his coat back on then looked down at the heels Emily was holding . . . then his eyes dropped even lower to her bare legs and feet.

His eyes snapped back up to hers, "do you know which one's Dave's room?"

"Yeah," she pointed, "the one at the very end of the hall," her eyebrow quirked up, "why?"

But he didn't answer her, instead he just said, "wait here," and jogged back the way they'd just came.

Her brow wrinkled in confusion as he knocked and then pushed open Dave's door . . . what the hell was he doing?

Then she saw him come out a second later and she grinned . . . yep, Hotch was the best boss around!

Hotch pulled the door shut behind him and ran back down to where Emily was waiting, "here," he held out the wool socks he'd taken from the top of the dresser, "I figure you'll be warmer with these."

He knew that she was going to be freezing without her stockings. And fortunately Dave followed the standard routine of underwear, socks in the top drawers of a dresser so Hotch hadn't really had to go rifling for anything.

As Emily again used his arm for balance . . . this time to pull on the socks . . . Hotch said quietly, "I'd rather not have to explain to Dave that I was poking around in his bedroom so let's just slip them back into his ready bag on the next flight, okay?"

Technically he could have just run downstairs to ASK Dave to borrow some socks for her but that seemed kind of stupid when his room was right up here. Especially given that it probably would have taken him ten minutes to track Dave down in the crowd downstairs

This way was much faster.

And they were just socks. It's not like he'd borrowed anything of value.

Emily looked up at him with a little smile, "okay."

Yep . . . her eyes crinkled as he gave her a relieved smile . . . definitely the best boss around.

"Okay sir," she picked up her heels from the floor, "let's blow this joint."

* * *

_A/N 2: I wrote a chapter in Girl called Cannibals and Other Things that Go Bump. And had said in that one that I'd wanted to write some dialogue for them as it related to star gazing but the scene didn't pull together that way. Plus, (as I'd said at the time) it would have been a blatant rip off of that X Files episode. But here, post Garcia's shooting, with them just out walking on a clear winter's night, it seemed to fit really well._

_And as I was working Emily's skinned knees (the only way to let them have any physical contact was to maim her) I remembered that I have Hotch cleaning up her hand a few weeks later so I made sure to give him the head bump to keep them even._

_Also, I think the events of this evening set them up well for the divorce chapters over in Girl. A bit of foreshadowing with the bathroom activities. Again, at some point I'd like to try to just slide this story in over there but that's a project for later._

_Phonetic alphabet, yes that was for you honey ;)_

_So one more here to wrap up the night. _


	3. All I Want For Christmas

**Author's Note**: Yes, finally I'm back again! And I'm in the Girl'verse! Trust me when I say that I'm happier to be able to post than any of you are to see me posting! I've had withdrawal. More at the end on that point.

This was scheduled to be the conclusion of the 2007 Christmas story (The Hours is Christmas 2008) but there's something that I was going to cover in narrative that I've actually decided to write out so there will be one more here after this one.

Picks up a few minutes after the end of chapter 2. Hotch is off getting ice for their slip and fall injuries, leaving Emily alone in the living room.

* * *

**All I Want For Christmas**

"OWW! Hey, watch where you're WALKING buddy!"

Emily simultaneously bounced on one foot while yelling after the drunk who had just stomped on her toes.

Though she didn't regret taking off the heels . . . it was impossible to wear them with her knee throbbing the way it was . . . the one downside to that decision was that she was now surrounded by an inebriated crowd of people bumping into her. And given the size the crowd had swelled to, right now Dave's house was almost as bad as any club on a Saturday night.

And even though Emily _thought_ that she'd picked a safe area to wait for Hotch to get back with the ice . . . for her knee and his head respectively . . . still this was the THIRD jackass who had smashed down on her foot!

Really, she was starting to think that she should have had Hotch drape her in some yellow caution tape before he went off to the kitchen.

Emily's grumblings were interrupted when she saw the most recent jackass turn around with a big grin on his face.

Oh man . . . her fist clenched . . . he was a dead man.

"What's wrong baby?" The guy leered down at her with unfocused eyes, "Why so cranky?"

Emily's eyebrow shot up to dangerous heights . . . Hotch level heights . . . as she responded in disbelief.

"Why so CRANKY! Seriously? Okay, uh, let's see, how about you're an ASS! How about _that_ for a reason as to why I'm so CRANKY! And how about I don't appreciate being called baby by drunken idiots? And how about the NEXT time," her fingers curled around the scruff of his shirt as she growled, "you step on somebody's FOOT, the polite thing to do would be to say 'oh I'm sorry, _MA'AM!_'"

Just when Emily got to the point of having a good head of steam going . . . the guy was visibly panicking as he desperately tried to yank his shirt out of her vice grip . . . she heard Hotch whisper in her ear.

"I think you've made your point Prentiss. If you don't let him go now he's liable to wet himself, and need I remind you, you're not wearing any shoes."

As amusing as it was to see Emily take on this guy . . . he was almost a foot taller than her . . . Hotch now had the ice. And he just had enough for her knee and his head.

If she was going to bust up her knuckles, then he was going to have to go back for another baggie.

Emily's jaw twitched for a second before she released her grip on the shirt. And then in his haste to get away from her, the drunk spun around, tripped over a chair leg . . . and fell on his face.

As he saw the spurt of blood hit Dave's carpet, Hotch rolled his eyes.

Idiot. And given that the chair leg . . . and the idiot's innate idiocy . . . had been the intervening acts leading up to the current condition of his nose and Dave's carpet, Hotch felt that Emily held no liability for his injuries. Therefore he had no qualms at all about leaving the other man bleeding on the floor as he guided his cursing, limping agent towards the door.

"So what did he do?" Hotch asked with a whisper in Emily's ear.

That was the first time that he'd seen her lose her temper that way with anyone besides Morgan.

"Called me baby after he stepped on my foot," Emily grumbled back, "just like, OW!" She yelped before leaning down to press on her battered toes, "THAT guy!"

Momentarily distracted by her throbbing pinky toe, the next thing Emily heard was, "um, I'm really, really sorry ma'am. I was stupid and I wasn't looking where I was going."

Noting the hint of terror veiled behind the outwardly apologetic words, Emily straightened up. What she saw made her mouth start to quiver.

Hotch had the guy by the arm.

Not that he appeared to be exerting any force, but Hotch didn't generally have to physically hurt anyone to scare the crap out of them.

It was skill that she admired.

After a second of letting the guy squirm, Emily tipped her head, "apology accepted." Then she shifted her gaze over to Hotch and nodded. He released his grip and the younger man scurried across the room like a rat heading for dry land.

Emily watched him go before she looked up with a soft smile, "thanks sir."

Hotch shook his head dismissively, "no thanks needed," then he shoved the ice into his jacket pocket before stepping behind her.

"Now, come on," he gently bumped her heel, "this will probably be the best way to get you out of here with all of your toes. So left foot, right foot Prentiss."

Just last weekend Jack had insisted on doing this in the grocery store, which is what had given Hotch the idea to do it now. Though it was a bit unusual to be doing it with another adult, it was certainly less conspicuous than picking her up again.

Emily chuckled as she stepped on Hotch's feet . . . just like getting her scraped knees bandaged, the last time anyone had done this with her was her father . . . and then grabbed his arm where he'd wrapped it loosely around her waist.

"Ready when you are sir!"

With a slight bit of maneuvering . . . and a great deal of muttered cursing . . . Hotch worked them out of the now overflowing living room/kitchen area. The size of the party had doubled and the noise level was bordering on deafening.

If Dave didn't have sound proofing then Hotch figured that he was going to have to start shutting things down soon before the neighbors called the police. Which was really Hotch's way of saying that this was definitely _not_ his type of gathering. He'd actually been enjoying himself when it was just him and Emily talking alone upstairs, but this level of noise in conjunction with this many inebriated bodies was just . . . he grunted to himself . . . obnoxious.

As they stepped out into the front hall Emily was about to pat Hotch's arm to tell him that she had to pee. That half a bottle of wine was starting to catch up with her. But then she saw that the line for the downstairs bathroom was five people deep.

God . . . her nose wrinkled . . . she really hoped that Dave had a cleaning service coming in the morning.

Yuck.

They could go back upstairs but that was going to delay them yet again and they'd already conquered way too many obstacles in her quest for sustenance. So instead of saying anything, Emily just tightened her hold on Hotch's arm as she decided that she could hold it until they got to the restaurant.

Still keeping Emily close in front of him, Hotch cleared a path through the people blocking the front hall. And unlike his usual attempts to be polite in mixed company, here Hotch cleared the path by simply shoving people out of the way.

It was really the only way to get out before midnight.

With the exception of the designated drivers, most of the guests were on at least their 5th cup of Dave's Special Christmas Punch . . . essentially all of the ingredients of a Long Island Ice Tea sans the tea . . . and a simple _'excuse me'_ had stopped being an effective means of communication about an hour ago.

So now he was down to a simpler approach, physical relocation of the obstacles in front of them. It was nice. Honestly, if he didn't think he'd get brought up on assault charges by day three, he might be inclined to use this approach regularly.

It was certainly much faster than being polite.

As they shoved their way towards the door, Hotch . . . not unsurprisingly . . . didn't see any other members of the team on the ground level. Really, taking himself and Emily out of the mathematical equation, that would have left just four people to spot out of the six or seven dozen around them.

Talk about needles in haystacks.

So it was really a stroke of good luck that they saw Dave earlier when they were going for their walk, because there was no way in hell that they'd be able to find him now to say goodbye.

Hotch was also feeling better about "borrowing" Dave's socks without asking first. It would have been a waste of time if he'd gone hunting for permission.

When they finally got to the front door, Hotch stopped by the credenza and released his grasp on Emily's waist so she could step down. As he shook the slight cramp out of his arm he realized that he'd probably been more familiar with the woman tonight that he had been for their entire previous acquaintance to date.

Still though, touching her this way didn't seem strange or inappropriate. It's not like . . . he snorted to himself . . . he was making a pass or anything. She'd been injured and he was assisting her getting bandaged up and out of the house before she got stepped on again.

It was all very innocent.

Though as they began pulling on their winter accessories Hotch remembered their earlier kiss upstairs, that was contact not at all related to their fall _or_ subsequent injuries. But . . . he shook his head dismissively as he wrapped his scarf around his neck . . . that was very innocent too.

Really, even though he'd breached pretty much _all_ of his touching guidelines, he was still totally comfortable with all of their interactions tonight.

It was just Emily.

Speaking of Emily . . . suddenly noticing a tragedy in the making, Hotch paused just as he was pulling on his second glove.

"Hey!" He barked at the woman about to slam into his favorite agent.

The woman was clearly too drunk to have quickly processed him yelling, but she definitely got the implied threat that came with the glare he shot along with it. Her eyes widened and she immediately did a course correction, pinballing into the wall lining the other side of the hall.

Her ricochet really was incredibly fortunate because as she headed up to the living room Hotch saw that she was wearing combat boots. And those would have _crushed_ Emily's feet.

Hearing Hotch's yell right before the younger woman drunkenly stumbled away from her, Emily deduced that he'd just saved her from another foot pounding. As she tucked her scarf into her coat she shot him a little smile of thanks.

His scary alpha territory thing was totally working to her advantage tonight!

Of course he didn't acknowledge the gratitude this time either . . . that wasn't his way . . . instead he just tipped his head towards the door.

"After you Prentiss."

As Emily stepped in front of him, Hotch found his hand falling to her back again. And he was about to pull it away when he realized that it was nice.

Having a little human contact was nice.

And that was probably why he kept justifying his behavior with her tonight. He'd been living alone for almost six months and it was Christmas Eve and he had no prospects for ANY human interaction for another twelve hours. And then it would just be his son . . . Haley didn't even want to see him.

So what did it hurt if he was a bit more familiar than usual with Emily?

Nothing. It hurt nothing. Because his family . . . the people that he considered his family regardless of their thoughts on the matter . . . were two counties away enjoying eggnog and Christmas carols and all of that festive crap he ordinarily couldn't stand but he'd kill to be a part of right now.

And as Emily gingerly stepped onto the front porch Hotch remembered that not only would there be no suffering through Christmas Eve festivities with his in-laws, but there really wouldn't be any of his usual Christmas activities this year. All of the things that he'd become accustomed to after twenty years of marriage were gone.

The last minute dash to wrap presents that Haley forgot were hidden in the attic, getting up early on Christmas morning to make his wife's favorite breakfast of Western omelets and cheddar biscuits, listening to Bing Crosby as he got his hand smacked for stealing cookies off the plates Haley was putting together as gifts for the neighbors.

And after all the mess was cleaned up and everyone had gone home, just sitting on the couch with his wife in his arms as they watched the lights twinkle on the tree.

All of the traditions, both big and small, that made up his life.

They were all gone.

Well . . . Hotch pulled the front door shut behind him with a weary sigh . . . perhaps not all. The only genuine Christmas tradition that he'd partaken in this year had been a kiss under the mistletoe. Though it was technically a fern he still felt it counted as the one annual tradition crossed off his Christmas list.

And that was pathetic.

As Emily paused for a moment to pull up her scarf, Hotch looked over her head to see the mistletoe ball that Dave had hanging over the front portico.

Though he'd noticed it earlier in the night, he hadn't thought much about it then. Of course then it was just another Christmas decoration. But now it was something else.

Now it was a memory.

And now . . . he took a breath . . . now, his eyes were transfixed by that giant green ball.

That was real mistletoe. That was the kind that Haley hung over their bedroom door. And it was strung there and only there because the first year they were married she'd made the mistake of putting it over the front door. And then one Saturday in December there was an awkward incident with the mailman coming to deliver a package. Hotch had come into the living room to see his wife turning beet red as she stared at the grinning postal carrier.

Hotch had shoved his holly jolly ass out the door with a dry, "you're not getting another tip pal, you just kissed my wife." After he'd shut the door, Hotch had turned to Haley to drolly suggest that perhaps it would be better if she moved the mistletoe upstairs.

Still glowing with embarrassment, Haley had stared at him for a moment before she burst out laughing and said yes, that would probably be best. Then she kissed him on the cheek and went off to finish her cards.

His eyes started to sting . . . that was a good day. They were still so happy and in love then.

Not like now.

Emily turned around to ask Hotch where he'd parked . . . but then she saw him staring above her head.

Her gaze lifted to see the mistletoe ball and as her eyes slowly dropped down again they caught with his.

Oh . . . she felt a twist in her gut . . . he looked so sad.

They stared at each other for a moment as Emily tried to think of something . . . anything . . . that would make him feel better. And then she got an idea and she took a step closer to him, her eyes crinkling slightly before she started speaking brightly.

"Clearly," she pointed above her head, "this one is real mistletoe, not dead fern. And as you know there is a federal statute that requires a minimum ten second kiss if you get caught under real mistletoe with any person of legal age and the opposite gender."

Unlike earlier in the night when Emily was the one that needed the kiss to feel connected to another person again, she could see now that Hotch was the one that was drifting. He was sad and he needed this.

Actually what he _needed_ was his family back, but this would have to do.

Feeling the wave of melancholy roll back slightly, Hotch's brow rose at Emily's efforts to cheer him up.

"Federal statute? I don't think I know that one."

"Well then, shame on you sir, because that's U.S.C. 1492," Emily stepped into his space, tipping her head back to look up at him, "and given that we're sworn officers of the law it's imperative that we set a good example for the public at large."

A tiny smile ghosted over Hotch's lips, "1492? Wasn't that the year Columbus sailed the ocean blue?"

Emily smirked, "well, who do you think brought the mistletoe?" Hotch couldn't help the slight snort that escaped, but then he looked back up at the ball of green ivy and his amusement was gone as quickly as it had come.

Out of nowhere he'd had a flash of a world where his wife never came back. That he would never again stand in his bedroom doorway and kiss his wife under the mistletoe. That though he hadn't known it at the time . . . they'd already shared their last Christmas together.

Feeling his eyes start to water, his gaze quickly shifted over Emily's shoulder.

A second later he felt her hand on his chest and his eyes snapped back to hers as he blinked rapidly, trying to push the tears away before they spilled over.

"_What_ Prentiss?" He snapped in irritation. But then he immediately felt ashamed for his reaction. They'd been having a good time tonight, Emily had been really nice to him . . . a nice distraction . . . and here she was now only doing what she always did, trying to cheer him up, showing concern for his well being.

And that's how he repaid her for it.

Unfortunately defensiveness was always his default reaction when anyone showed the slightest bit of sympathy, or in his mind . . . pity . . . for his situation. That's the last thing he wanted.

Though when he looked down again, he saw that Emily hadn't pulled away like he would have expected, like anyone else would have done. Instead he saw that all attempts at levity had left her, and a sad smile touched her lips right before she whispered, "it's okay Hotch, I understand."

Hearing the compassion in her tone, he felt like a complete schmuck. It wasn't right to take this out on her. She didn't do this. Haley had done this.

And he wouldn't blame one woman for the sins of another.

So he put away his pride, and his expression softened as he murmured back in embarrassment, "I'm sorry."

Hearing the remorse in her tone, Emily nodded as she reached over and rubbed his arm.

The apology hadn't been necessary, but she appreciated it all the same. Emily had known that Hotch was just trying to keep it together . . . she had the same defense mechanisms . . . so she'd felt no sting at his reproach. No sting, just a wave of empathy and sadness as she again flashed on what hell this holiday had to be for him.

For twenty years he had a wife, and then he had a child . . . and now he had nothing. He might still get to see his son, but he didn't have a family anymore. And Emily was starting to think that it was unlikely that he would have one again. Because if Haley was at all inclined to want to work things out with him, then obviously the holiday season would have been the likely catalyst to begin moving that process forward.

But Hotch was alone tonight, and it was quite obvious from his demeanor and mood that no great reunion was on the horizon for Christmas day. If that was happening then he wouldn't be so sad right now.

She bit her lip as she looked up at him . . . the poor thing. And as she saw that his eyes were again starting to water, hers did in sympathy. For a moment they stared at one another, the world around them slowly spinning to a stop. Emily knew that they were standing on Dave's front porch, that there was a cold wind beginning to blow from the east, that there dozens of party goers on the other side of the oak door behind them.

But the cold bite from the wind, her still rumbling stomach, and the noise of the party spilling over were concerns beyond her . . . they were in a bubble.

Hotch saw Emily give him a soft smile right before she curled her finger in a come here motion. He bit his lip . . . on it's face the kiss was innocent enough . . . there was still mistletoe involved . . . but still he debated with himself a second longer.

Was this something that he wanted? Was this something that would help?

This kiss wouldn't be like the first one, mistletoe or not, he wasn't going to fool himself, this kiss would mean something. Not something romantic, but still . . . something. And was he really ready for that? Was he ready to feel something . . . anything . . . with a woman that wasn't his wife?

As Hotch considered those questions, he suddenly focused in on the melody of off key Christmas carols that had just started up inside the house. The resulting ache in his chest was enough to help him make up his mind.

So he leaned down and then he felt Emily's leather clad fingers come up to cup his jaw on either side.

Their gazes locked and his hand fell down to her waist. He saw Emily's eyes fall shut as she pressed her lips to his, and then Hotch closed his own eyes . . . and he remembered.

He remembered a different life. A different woman. He remembered all of those Christmases that had come before. And he wished for all of those Christmases that were starting to seem farther and farther away.

Those wishes should have made him sadder still, but to his surprise . . . they didn't. Because for so many months the course of his life had been completely beyond his control. Haley had been the one making all of the decisions. Deciding that they were going to separate, deciding to leave when he wasn't home to stop her, deciding when he could see his son, deciding that they weren't going to counseling, and the biggest decision of all . . . she was the one that would decide if their marriage was over or if they could try again.

He'd felt angry, helpless . . . adrift.

But for that minute with Emily . . . for the length of that sweet, chaste kiss . . . he felt grounded again.

It was wonderful.

And when Emily broke away from him a few seconds later Hotch felt an unexpected wave of loss at the contact. Though he'd known it had to end . . . he had hoped it wouldn't happen so soon.

Slowly his lashes fluttered open, and he looked down to see that Emily's eyes were wet as she stared up at him.

For a moment they were both silent and then his eyes crinkled slightly.

"Thank you," he whispered.

He was more grateful than he could say for that moment. It wasn't something that he could describe exactly. Though this woman wasn't his wife, still, somehow kissing Emily had given him hope again. That his need to believe in a happy future wasn't simply a tilt at the windmills of fate.

It could really happen

And as Emily gave him a watery smile in return for his gratitude, his hand fell off her hip to reach down and squeeze her fingers.

Then Emily winked at him and a half of a dimple slid out right before she leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Can we go eat now?"

The rest of the dimple appeared as he pulled her into a quick hug.

"Yes, Prentiss," he murmured against her hair as he gave her a little squeeze, "we can go eat now."

Though less than five minutes ago he'd been staring up at the mistletoe feeling nothing but sadness and loss, now those feelings were pushed aside. Now he felt a faint bit of Christmas spirit and a genuine warmth and affection for the woman he was embracing. Though he hadn't consciously realized it before, Hotch knew now knew that this was _exactly_ why he'd stayed and talked to Emily tonight when he could have just slipped out and gone home early.

Emily wasn't like other people. She didn't shy away from him when he was in a bad mood, but also she never pried or tried to make him open up like Dave or Gideon would have. She never asked him personal questions that he didn't want to answer. And she never made things a big deal. She just moved on to something else. And going forward he was going to try to remember this moment. Because she'd just done something for him that nobody had been else had been able to do for quite some time.

She'd made him happy.

Pretending like there had been no intervening hug between her question and his answer, Emily sighed dramatically against Hotch's overcoat before leaning back to look up at him.

"Can you believe that I'm actually hungry enough to eat one of JJ's world famous, chocolate chunk, peanut brittle, caramel cluster, M&M brownie bars?"

Though Emily was indeed starving, really she was just trying to lighten the mood and take the focus off the moment. The last thing she wanted was for Hotch to feel awkward about lowering his guard with her.

And as she looked up to see Hotch's lips twitch, Emily knew that her choice of topic changer had been successful. Because really, they both knew that she'd have to be on about day five of a plane crash in the Andes before she'd be craving one of JJ's infamous tooth decimating brownies.

"Wow," Hotch tried to hide his smile as he turned Emily around and began guiding her off the front porch, "that's pretty hungry."

Again, never a big deal.

"I know right?" Emily shook her head, "I nearly broke a tooth on the one I had at lunch." Hearing Hotch's quiet huff, Emily gave another exaggerated sigh as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

"Eventually I ended up soaking it in a cup of coffee and cutting it up with a knife and fork."

Though she was hoping to get a laugh out of Hotch . . . which she did . . . that was actually, hand to God, the honest truth. She'd had to saturate her brownie in a hot liquid until it was soft enough to chew. Poor JJ, thank God for microwavable meals or Emily was pretty sure the girl would have starved to death by now.

"Prentiss," Hotch said on a chuckle, "why didn't you just throw it away?"

That's what he'd done. Well, he'd tried to eat it of course. Though he'd experienced JJ's baking attempts in the past, every time she brought something in . . . usually for a birthday or a holiday . . . he'd held onto the hope that perhaps she would have gotten better since the last try. But sadly . . . no.

Still every time he tried to choke down half of the brownie because he'd feel badly if he put it straight into the garbage. But then today he'd bitten down too hard and his jaw locked and he started to worry about losing a molar . . . not an abstract concern, Morgan's dentist had banned him from sampling JJ's baked goods again for that exact reason . . . so he had ended up tossing the last bit in the rubbish.

"And hurt her feelings?" Emily looked up at him in astonishment, "what if she'd seen it in the trash? No way," she shook her head as they stopped for a moment at the street, "I was choking that baby down even if it had to come with a side of Heimlich."

Hotch's mouth quivered for a second before he allowed the little smile to drift across his face. And as he saw Emily looking down at her stocking covered feet his eyes crinkled.

"Prentiss?" He said softly.

"Yeah Hotch?" Her eyes shot up to his.

"Thanks."

Emily shot Hotch a soft smile before leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Then she turned, tenderly stepping into the street as she announced loudly.

"Somewhere in the world my dinner's getting cold sir."

Moment now completely broken, Hotch shook his head as followed after her, taking her arm again so she could limp over to his jeep. He considered picking her up as he had earlier, but they weren't going far. He'd parked in front of the house diagonally across the street, and even by Emily's slow pace, it wasn't more than a dozen steps to navigate. All the while of course she was chattering about her growling stomach.

When Emily moved on to the next topic, she _really_ moved on to the next topic.

After he unlocked the passenger side door, Hotch slipped his hand around from Emily's arm to her back to help her inside. As she shifted back in the seat, Hotch saw her try to hide the wince of pain when she bumped her knee on the glove box. His brow furrowed in concern as he passed her the two slightly watery ice bags.

"Put your leg up," he instructed as he stepped back, "it'll help with the swelling."

Between the elevation and the ice, if she stayed off her feet tomorrow then hopefully she'd be in good field shape for next week if they were called out.

Hearing Hotch's suggestion, Emily's wince morphed to a pained smirk.

"You're just trying to get a look up my skirt, sir," she teased as she slowly lifted her leg up as Hotch had suggested.

"If I'd wanted to look up your skirt I could have done it in the bathroom," Hotch replied flatly as he helped her get her foot up on the dashboard.

Really, she was just lucky that it wasn't Derek that had been helping her tonight.

Or Dave.

Either one would have gladly peeked for no other reason than to then bust her chops with comments on her choice of underwear for the evening.

Emily's lips twitched as Hotch put the ice bags into her lap and slammed the door shut . . . he was quick with the quips tonight.

With a subtle shake of his head Hotch crossed around the front of the jeep and climbed into the driver's side door. A check of his watch said it was closing in on eleven o'clock . . . not as late as he'd thought it was.

As he started the ignition and pulled out into the street, Hotch watched Emily out of the corner of his eye as she shifted around trying to find a comfortable position.

It wasn't until they'd left Dave's cul de sac that Hotch realized he didn't know where the hell they were going to eat.

He shot Emily a quizzical look across the front seat, "where am I going?"

It was Christmas Eve, but it was also a major metropolitan area with a varied ethnic population. And not everyone celebrated the holiday, so hopefully there should be something decent open.

Emily bit her lip as she stared over at Hotch in the glow of the dashboard lights . . . good question. Where were they going to go? Then she got an idea and she raised her eyebrow hopefully, "you wouldn't want to go to Chinatown would you?"

It was a little bit of a drive from where they were but it was the one neighborhood where she was positive something would be open this late.

Hotch quickly checked his watch again before nodding.

"That's fine but if we drive back that far into the city then I think I should just drop you at home afterward. With your knee I don't want you driving home that late if the roads are icy. I'll just pick you up on the way to . . ."

And then he remembered that tomorrow was Christmas.

Crap.

When Hotch paused, Emily also remembered that they were off tomorrow. So she decided to make an impulsive offer.

"You know," she said quietly, "I just realized that my car is completely blocked in the driveway anyway so maybe you could sleep at my house and then just drop me off here tomorrow on your way home."

Though the idea had seemed sound in her mind, Emily really wished that she hadn't just blurted it out without thinking it through first. Because as Hotch's eyes snapped back over to hers, she started to feel really self conscious and she immediately tried to clarify what she'd meant. Unfortunately though, the rest of her thoughts simply came out as a stammer.

"I mean, you know uh, if you wanted to do that, it might be um . . . nice."

Okay, yeah she just sounded like a complete moron there. But for a second she'd panicked when she had the terrible thought that Hotch was looking at her like that because he thought she was propositioning him or something. Because she was so absolutely NOT doing that!

All she'd been thinking was that clearly neither of them had any plans for Christmas morning. And as long as the opportunity had presented itself, it might be nice to have Hotch over and then they could spend their totally alone time together. She could put on the Christmas Story marathon like she usually did, and then they could make breakfast and have coffee and then he'd have some distraction from thinking about where he really wanted to be, and she'd have some distraction in general from the fact that her life really was kind of a sucky mess in its own right.

Her birthday wish was that she wouldn't be alone anymore, but unfortunately only three months had passed since she'd blown out that candle and nothing at all had changed yet.

Basically she'd been pretty lonely lately and didn't quite know what to do about that.

Hotch's eyes snapped back to the road as he tried to think of a polite way to say no to Emily without hurting her feelings.

But then he paused for a second as he actually thought what he was doing on Christmas day . . . nothing. He wasn't picking up Jack until one and he had literally _nothing_ to do until then.

As much as it pained him to admit it, he'd been considering going into the office for a few hours in the morning. He wasn't much for sleeping in when there was nobody to sleep in with. He just didn't know what to do with himself with that much time on his hands that he knew should be spent with his family.

So in that respect Emily's offer did hold some genuine appeal. He'd have something to do in the morning . . . drive her back to Dave's house so she could get her car.

"Okay," he nodded slowly, "I can take you back here in the morning." A quick glance across the car showed him that her face had lit up so he quickly tried to temper her enthusiasm before she got the wrong idea.

"But I _can't_ sleep over your house Prentiss," he said firmly, "I'm just going to pick you up and bring you back here, okay?"

Hearing the slight edge in his tone, Emily felt a stab of embarrassment.

"Oh," Emily tried not to let her smile falter, "right," she cleared her throat, "sure, that sounds good too."

Duh, Em . . . her eyes dropped as her face started to burn . . . obviously he doesn't want to sleep over your house! You're not twelve years old you idiot.

Seeing the flash of pain on Emily's face, Hotch realized that despite his best efforts he'd just hurt her feelings anyway.

Apparently his best efforts were for shit. Because here he had just been thinking how great Emily had been to him tonight, and then his innate crankiness had just inadvertently bled over into his response and shot all his good intentions right to hell.

She was clearly embarrassed and he felt like a complete jerk. The words in his head had sounded so much better than they had coming out of his mouth. And the worst part was, for a second he didn't know what the hell to do to smooth it over.

They'd been having a nice evening . . . a nice evening which included two mistletoe kisses and no awkward pauses . . . and now he'd just inserted a giant awkward pause into the front seat of his Jeep Cherokee.

'_Good job Aaron,_' he thought with disgust, _'just great. Why do you always have to be such an asshole? Maybe moments like this are why Haley didn't even want to see you tomorrow.' _

As he felt the wave of self loathing wash over him, Hotch hit the directional and pulled over to the side of the road.

For a moment silence reigned in the small dark space. And then Hotch spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "that didn't come out right. You made a kind offer and I'm very appreciative," he huffed humorlessly, "I'm just not very good at showing it," he paused, "I just think that there are so many people here tonight that know us, even if we don't know them, if anyone saw us leaving together and then later found out I slept over, well it might not look right." He took a breath and brightened his tone, "that said, it sounds like you don't have plans in the morning," he cleared his throat before plunging into the rest of it, "I don't either. So perhaps, if you'd like we could get brunch before we go back and get your car."

And Hotch stopped, waiting to hear what she thought of his idea. The apology part was easy because the flub had been unintentional. But extending the invitation to get together for a totally unnecessary meal was the hard part. His social skills were rusty with disuse . . . but he thought that the offer would make her happy.

Though as he looked at her now still staring out the front window, he had no idea what she was going to say.

When Hotch had first pulled over Emily had been a little nervous, Hotch didn't usually talk about his feelings so she didn't know what the hell was going to come out of his mouth. But after hearing the hesitation behind his words, she knew that the apology was genuine. And she could see that the offer to meet for breakfast had been hard for him.

Admitting that he too had nothing to do.

And that alone was enough for the awkwardness to leave them. Her eyes shifted across the front seat, and from the faint blue glow she could see that he was biting his lip as he looked back over at her.

He was nervous.

She offered him a soft smile and she saw the relief wash over his face. And then suddenly things were back to normal again.

"Brunch would be nice," she whispered back with the same soft smile.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he nodded back slowly, "yes, brunch would be nice."

And everything was normal again. Not to mention, his morning would be filled. He now had plans for Christmas. All week he'd felt like such a loser. Mainly he'd been depressed about not seeing Jack until the holiday was mostly over. On top of that though he'd also been thinking how pathetic it was that without his wife and son he couldn't even find a way to fill the time.

Really, he had NOBODY else in his life. No friends that he saw outside of work, and his mother was down south and his brother was up north, and neither of them knew just how bad his personal life had become. And even if they had known, what, was he going to call them up and whine about it? No. So he'd resigned himself to a pathetic morning by himself. But now he had things to do. And they weren't work things. And as he put the car in gear again, he felt a ridiculous surge of pride that he'd found something to do with his time.

The pride might have been a little bit pathetic but he wasn't going to quibble, a good moment was a good moment. And those had been few and far between the last six months.

"So," he turned to look at Emily with a little smile, "Chinatown, right?"

Emily leaned across the seat to tuck the other ice pack behind Hotch's head as she nodded happily.

"Yep," she settled back in her seat with a saucy grin, "and if you're nice to me I'll find us another bushel of mistletoe before the night's over."

Hotch barked a laugh as he pulled back onto the street.

'_Definitely a good night.'_

* * *

_A/N 2: So yes, more touchy feely stuff here, but again, I felt it really laid the groundwork for the emotional and physical advances/developments in their relationship a few weeks later when Hotch actually gets the divorce papers. I was thinking of what happened not only in Girl "A" but also Girl "D" (aka Second Chances) and how these worlds are never 0 to 60, it's always tiny little layers being built upon one another. And this night is one of those layers. Especially with the second mistletoe kiss echoing his feelings from the night in the bar (a few weeks later) when he gets that sensation of comfort when he kisses Emily. That was "real" kissing though, this was still a sweeter chaste one that just made him feel better._

_Also with their two steps forward, one step back relationship at this point in time, they're both pretty much a mess and one or the other generally tends to suffer from foot in mouth disease whenever they try to have an actual conversation. So an awkward pause was a necessary insert because things had been going along too well. They aren't THAT in synch this early in time :)  
_

_I also liked here exploring the fact that Hotch was really in love with his wife at one point. More than one person has commented as to whether he was as attentive to Haley as he is to Emily and I think yes, back when their marriage was good and happy that he was That Guy with her too. I have no desire to write him as That Guy with Haley, but it is good to brush over that briefly to help flesh out some character dimensions with him._

_Emily's birthday wish is an allusion back to Ladybug, Ladybug. If you haven't read that one yet, it's H/P on her 39th birthday a few months earlier.  
_

_I've had a terrible time trying to write this summer. My actual ability to put words on the pages just flitters away and it's like I don't know how to do it anymore. It's kind of depressing to not be able to do something that you enjoy doing. Though I try not to actually get depressed about it because then I won't be able to write anything at all! Regardless though, sucking big time has never stopped me from trying, so even when I can't write cohesively I've still been trying to peck away in the hopes of getting another one of these few days where the fog lifts and I actually feel like I know what the hell I'm doing again. These past few days I do again seem to know what the hell I'm doing so I'm hoping to get two or three items up by the weekend. The Hours is on that list, as is the conclusion to Rossi's cookout and a few other items. I know people are waiting on Fracture in particular, trust me when I say I am aware of the interest ;) but it is a mess! A long mess (I have been pecking at it) but a mess nonetheless, but after I get these Girl'verse chapters up which are basically done, I'll read that Fracture again and maybe get it up this weekend. Rest assured if the ability to write would stay with me for the next two weeks I do have like ELEVEN chapters in various stories all awaiting a final swipe. So let's all keep a good thought that there will be a flood of postings washing ashore soon!_

_**Prompts**__: Kavi and I finished picking some of the August prompts so tomorrow I'll be putting up the regular picks in both forums, plus a Fan's Choice bonus from the offerings left on that thread. And also there will be a special bonus in TV Title. That's it for early August but we'll have additional bonuses up at the end of the month both there and in the Story Title. _


	4. Written In The Stars

**Author's Note:** Happy New Year! First posting of 2011! Sorry I was going to put this up earlier, like a year ago! (the requisite 'year ago' bad joke you hear every New Year's, best to get it out of the way early) but I got sucked into watching the Dr. Who marathon. There's something about a marathon, it doesn't matter if you've seen an episode before, you just can't stop! It's like crack. Not that I've done crack, but you get the point.

Anyway, the conclusion of my last Universe A Christmas story. I have no idea why it took forever and a day to finish up but, it did. And now it's done and that's "two" off the holiday posting schedule and one more "Complete" on the ongoing story list. Productivity on schedule, sort of. I'd hoped to have more up by now but of course I have most of a week off and I get sick. Regardless, focusing on the positives, that's two postings in a week. That's as many as we had all of last month to date! :)

This scene picks up shortly after H/P in the car. And point here, I haven't been to DC Chinatown in years (I mean _years_) so I didn't even try to dig through my memories on what's located where, as most likely things have come and gone since my last Metro visit. So as it relates to actual geography here, if you know Washington, the only true point is that this section of H Street would still be considered part of the heart of that section of the city. The "oh hey look at that architecture, I clearly just entered Chinatown," section. Beyond that, I took quite a few "artistic" liberties and totally just made up the restaurants :)

* * *

**Written In The Stars**

Though the light was green, Hotch braked slightly as he approached the intersection of H and 7th, NW. He was looking for parking, but unfortunately . . . he slowed further as he rolled into the 700 block of H Street . . . he couldn't see one open space on either side of the slushy road.

Damn . . . his brow wrinkled faintly as he drove slowly down the street . . . given how late it was on Christmas Eve he'd had much better hopes on the parking situation.

A second later he rolled his eyes as he realized that was pretty short sighted on his part. Obviously he wasn't the _only_ person in the Metro area out looking for food at 11:25 pm on December 24th. And this was the most logical area of the city to expect to find anything open on this particular day at this particular time of night. A weary sigh passed Hotch's lips as he spotted the next light coming up . . . and that meant that finding metered parking _anywhere _in the three block radius he was looking was going to be something of a miracle.

Oh!

Hotch's expression suddenly brightened considerably as he spied a spot opening up on a side street they were passing. Huh . . . he quickly checked his mirrors . . . miracle needed, miracle delivered. That was something. Though, they were coming up on the day for such things. And not someone to look a gift one in the mouth . . . miracles of any shape or size were in small quantity in Hotch's daily life . . . he performed a clean U/J-turn in the middle of the street before this particular little miracle was lost/stolen.

Though his U/J turn went off without a hitch, Hotch knew that doing what he did was a bit obnoxious given that he was smack dab in the middle of a busy city street. Not to mention, he was doing it for no good reason at all. Really, it's not like he was off to a mass murder or taking semi-automatic weapons fire at the time. Those would at least be "good" reasons for driving like a dick.

Tonight he had no good reason.

And as was evidenced by the squealing brakes and chorus of angry honking around him, he could tell that his little alphabet move wasn't particularly popular with any of his fellow drivers. In addition to the honking and the yelling, Hotch also received a handful of oh so Christmasy middle fingers from all four lanes of traffic.

Well . . . his jaw set as he turned his head to start backing into the precious spot . . . screw 'em.

Yes, he knew that wasn't a particularly charitable approach to take on Christmas Eve but he was tired of being a good guy. Right now he was simply just tired. Tired and hungry and . . . he turned off the engine . . . with all the hell he put up with the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year, he wasn't going to feel the _tiniest_ bit guilty about committing five moving violations to grab the only open parking space in all of Chinatown. First come, first served. Or . . . he rolled his neck . . . the Lord helps those who help themselves.

Pick your poison.

Either way, he was good. Though it wasn't until he'd unbuckled his seatbelt that he bothered to look back to the main street to even take note of where he'd parked in relation to the half dozen or so restaurants that he knew were on this section of the block.

Eh . . . his nose wrinkled . . . not too far.

All they had to do was walk two car lengths up to the corner and then they'd be back on the main thoroughfare again. From there they could go wherever.

And as Hotch continued to look out the side window of the jeep, he squinted slightly at the neon signs in the windows on the block ahead of him. He was trying to decide which one looked the most appetizing at this time of night . . . i.e. who _didn't _have a dead duck hanging in their window. Not that he was opposed to authentic cuisine in principle; he just wasn't looking to go anywhere that they skinned their own animals onsite.

Authentic cuisine was nice, not finding loose feathers on your plate was nicer still.

From his position in the driver's seat, Hotch could see three duckless possibilities. And after a second of window perusal . . . he had to wipe the condensation off twice to see down the street . . . he narrowed his choice down to the _Forbidden City_. He ended up picking that one for no other reason than it appeared to be approximately six paces closer than the nearest non duck competitor, _Blue Moon_. Ordinarily the six paces wouldn't have mattered to him, but after an eighteen hour day . . . he stifled a yawn as he scrubbed his hand across his mouth . . . every last step counted.

So now it was time to get moving towards the exits.

Though when Hotch turned to look at Emily across the front seat, he huffed slightly to himself when he saw that she was asleep. Of course he should have known that something was amiss by the lack of feminine input on the illegal maneuvers that he'd just performed. Ordinarily that was a driving technique that Emily would have had quite a bit to say about. Hmm, she actually had to be pretty exhausted to have slept through the honking and the cursing too. But as Hotch thought about it then, he couldn't recall hearing a peep out of his companion since they'd entered the city limits. And that was . . . he checked his watch . . . maybe fifteen minutes ago.

That was a pretty solid nap.

Hotch's gaze shifted back across the seat, and in the shadows of the streetlight, for a moment he just watched Emily sleep. Her head was tipped to her shoulder and her lashes were brushing her cheek.

She looked peaceful.

Though after a few seconds of that entirely inappropriate behavior . . . this was not the first time that he'd stared at the woman while she was unconscious and he didn't want to think about what that meant . . . Hotch realized that watching _her_ sleep was making _him_ tired. Besides that though . . . he stifled another yawn . . . Christmas Eve was shortly going to become Christmas Day and it would be nice if they were at least on their fortune cookies before that happened.

Just as Hotch reached over to touch Emily's arm, a car alarm went off around the corner and that sound . . . unlike the rest of the traffic noises that night . . . actually startled her awake.

Her eyes popped open directly onto his.

"Hey," he said softly as he pulled his arm back.

"Hey," Emily blinked as she yawned into her hand, "sorry, how long was I sleeping?"

He shrugged back, "I don't know. Ten, fifteen minutes," his brow quirked up as he added drily, "it's been eerily quiet in the car."

"Lucky you sir," she huffed out on another yawn, "but I'm awake now." She rubbed her hand over her mouth to cover another yawn trying to come out, "and raring to go."

Perhaps raring was a bit of an overstatement. She actually felt like somebody had slipped her a roofy. But given that the only people tonight that had touched her drinks were Dave and Hotch . . . she snorted to herself . . . that thought was rather ridiculous. Most likely it was just the day, month, year catching up with her.

It had been a long everything.

Hotch's brow wrinkled slightly when he saw Emily blinking to keep her eyes open.

"You sure you're not too tired to go eat?" He asked with a faint touch of concern.

He'd really rather she didn't go inside and slump unconscious over her fried rice. That was going to make a mess. But his concerns were somewhat allayed when he saw Emily look over at him with a sleepy smile.

"Don't be silly sir." She joked as she undid her seatbelt, "you know that I'm never too tired to eat." That sentence was punctuated with another yawn.

And then another.

And then one more.

After the fourth yawn in less than a minute she gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry. But like I said, I'm raring to . . ."

". . . raring to go, yeah," Hotch drolly finished Emily's sentence, "obviously." Their eyes locked for a second and seeing her mouth quiver he hid his own lip twitch by feigning annoyance.

"Well," he mock scowled as he hit the locks, "just try not to pass out while you're eating. I don't really feel like performing the Heimlich tonight." Then he simultaneously opened his door and shot her a look, "wait for me and I'll help you down."

Knowing that was a statement that was going to elicit a response, Hotch was out and into the street before she could protest. Not that her protests would have meant anything to him, he just didn't want to hear them. But with her swollen knee the jeep was too high off the ground for her to get out on her own without injuring herself further.

So he was helping her out whether she liked it or not.

As he slammed his door shut, Hotch took a moment to familiarize himself with their surroundings . . . a.k.a. pinpoint any potential problems in their immediate vicinity. He could see that the side street that they were on was little more than a large alley with parking on one side. But all things considered . . . he wobbled his head slightly . . . it seemed to be a fairly safe alley. Well lit, and there were a couple of homeless people a little further down setting up camp over what was probably a heated grate, beyond that . . . his hand grazed over the sidearm hidden under his coat . . . they appeared to be alone. But of course even the criminal elements were known to observe the occasional holiday. So with not a visibly dangerous creature stirring, Hotch broke his stance, moving forward around the front of the jeep to help Emily down. Though when he opened the passenger door, he noticed a funny look on her face.

His eyebrow rose in curiosity, "what's the matter?"

"I just realized that I have to put my heels on again," Emily grumbled as she turned to grab them off the back seat where she'd tossed them earlier, "no shirt, no shoes," her fingers closed around the first heel, "yada yada," she picked up the second shoe with a grunt, "yada."

Damn public health codes . . . she rolled her eyes . . . like her wool sock clad feet were really going to be the epicenter of the next dysentery outbreak?

No.

When Emily turned back to Hotch with her high heels in hand, she saw him staring at them. It was her turn to ask the question.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, just," he shook his head dismissively, "don't bother with them Prentiss." When she looked at him in confusion he simply put his hand out, "we've got our badges, I'll carry you over the," he glanced down at the filthy alleyway, "pavement and then you just be careful you don't step on any loose wontons when we get inside." His eyes snapped back up to hers as he nodded firmly, "it's fine."

Those heels had already proven themselves to be a menace tonight anyway, and with Hotch now factoring in her weakened right side and the slight bit of black ice forming on the sidewalks, she was sure to break her neck if she tried to walk in them again.

Emily stared at her boss for a moment before she shrugged and dropped her heels down on the floor mat.

"Okay," she swung her legs around, "if you say so."

Given how intimidating Hotch could be, most likely he could escort her inside with no shirt and no shoes and she'd still get service. She glanced over his head at the slightly sketchy neighborhood . . . though given that there was a Hooters just down the street if she decided to go anywhere around here with no shirt she'd probably get a free dinner.

Bare tits were popular everywhere.

Though if she went shirtless in this weather she'd definitely be giving new meaning to the old National Lampoon's favorite, "a wee bit nipply out." Not that the old meaning was all that classy to begin with . . . Emily's brow wrinkled as she looked back down at Hotch . . . where was she going with this? Just then Hotch pushed her coat aside and she nodded to herself.

Right, ways to get a free meal/give Hotch a heart attack.

Just before he reached up to lift Emily out, Hotch stopped, pausing to brush aside her coat and check her knees again. His nose wrinkled slightly when he saw that the bruising had darkened considerably over the last half hour. It looked quite painful. Fortunately though . . . he fixed her coat before reaching up to slip his arm around her waist . . . the ice did seem to have at least done its job of keeping the swelling down on the right knee. That was good, but he was really just grateful that tomorrow was a holiday so she could rest up.

Emily shimmied forward a bit so she could hook her arm around Hotch's neck. Then she grimaced slightly as he slipped his other arm under her legs and pulled her to his chest. He paused for a second as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "you okay?"

"Yep," she gave him a slightly pained smile, "I'm good. Just a little twinge, it's passed." So he stepped back onto the sidewalk and she pushed the door shut.

It wasn't until he heard the slam that Hotch realized that he'd forgotten to hand Emily the keys before he picked her up. Idiot.

He rolled his eyes as he jerked his head to the left.

"Uh, can you get the locks please? Keys are in my left pants pocket."

Making no effort to stifle her amusement, Emily's smirked at Hotch as she leaned over slightly.

"That better be all that's in your pocket sir," she said as she pushed back his coat, "because I haven't had a guy try to play find the cannoli with me since I was visiting my friend Analise up in Brooklyn."

"Prentiss . . ." Hotch groaned and Emily snorted as she yanked the keys from his pocket.

"Yeah, yeah Hotch, I know," she grinned at him as she hit the locks, "I'm killing you."

Busting Hotch's chops had long ago become her favorite pastime.

"As long as you know," Hotch responded drolly, "as you long as you know."

And then with her chuckling in his ear, he turned and started up towards the main street.

/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Prentiss," Hotch said as Emily took a left around the back hallway of the restaurant, "are you sure this is the right . . ."

And then he stopped, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back, "be careful!"

Somebody had dropped a beer bottle and the green glass was in slivers all over the floor in front of them.

"Oh," Emily frowned as she looked at the debris on the dirty tile, "thanks."

She'd almost forgotten this was a restaurant/bar. They had just finished eating on the restaurant side but the bathrooms were shared territory in the back and she knew that every barroom had broken glass somewhere on the ground. But regardless of the sharp pointy things lying in her path, Emily still had to pee really, really badly. And . . . she pointed . . . it was just ten feet away.

"Right there, ladies room," her gaze traveled a little further down the hall and then her pointing finger followed, "and that one looks like the men's room."

The signs were in Chinese but the pictures seemed clear enough.

Hotch twisted his jaw as he looked behind them and then back down to the mess on the floor . . . it had been kicked by more than one passerby and he could see the little bits had traveled some feet. And he was sure that there tinier slivers that weren't obvious from where they were standing.

Emily was bound to step on some of them.

So with visions of tetanus shots now dancing in his head, Hotch scooped his accident prone agent up for the tenth time that night, then carried her the rest of the way down the narrow hall.

No longer fazed by Hotch carting her around like a sack of potatoes, Emily didn't even blink when he picked her up again. She just held on until they reached the ladies room. Then she put her hand out and knocked on the door.

No answer.

She turned the knob and pushed. The door swung back slowly and Hotch's brow rose up as he looked down at the floor.

No puddles . . . he deposited the sock wearing Emily on the faded pink tile . . . good enough.

"I'll be back in a minute," and he turned, continuing down the hall to the other bathroom.

Two beers, a half a bottle of wine, a water and a pot of tea with dinner had definitely all just caught up with him.

Emily poked her head around the corner, watching Hotch go, then she stepped back inside, pushed the door shut and locked it.

When she looked back to the floor again her nose wrinkled . . . thank God these were Dave's socks and not hers. Granted, the floor seemed clean enough . . . at least by bar bathroom standards . . . but still, yuck.

Public bathrooms were definitely the one place in the world where you really, REALLY wanted to be wearing shoes!

Still though . . . Emily sighed . . . when you gotta go, you gotta so and she most definitely had to go. So she gingerly . . . albeit still somewhat reluctantly . . . starting moving her way over to the toilet, trying to avoid stepping anywhere that looked like it might be sticky. Or God forbid . . . a shudder went through her body . . . wet.

She imagined it would have been less stressful walking in a minefield.

Eventually she made it the six paces across the chilly bathroom. Though once she arrived at the toilet, to her chagrin Emily realized that she really should have taken her coat off at the door. It was going to be hard enough maneuvering over the seat without worrying about dipping her best wool in nasty toilet water.

For a second she seriously considered trying to juggle, then decided that with her aching knee it was going to be hard enough levitating without ten pounds of coat throwing her off. So with a roll of her eyes she made the tiptoed trek back across the small room again.

'_Where was Hotch when she really needed him?' _she huffed to herself as she started pulling off her coat and scarf. Then she snorted as she pictured the look on his face if she asked to him to render assistance in this situation.

He'd mutter something derogatory, then roll his eyes and finally . . . her expression softened . . . just ask what she needed him to do.

He was sweet like that.

A sad smile touched Emily's lips as she hung the coat on the back of the door . . . he was such a good guy. It was really awful what was happening with him family, that he was all alone for Christmas. And as she started back across the bathroom again Emily once more wished that he would have just accepted her invitation to stay over tonight and spend the morning with her. Any other day she might have thought that idea was somewhat strange, but they were having a really good time together tonight! She'd even made him laugh at dinner! And not just the quiet Hotch chuckle, this was a rarely seen full on belly laugh where she saw his eyes start to tear up in mirth.

It was a wonderful thing to see.

It was something that she wished there was a way to see more of. And tonight it was all because she decided to tell him the story about Morgan falling into the poison ivy patch last month. He was doing maintenance on one of his properties and things went terribly awry. Yet somehow Derek had managed to convince her, Garcia and Reid to keep from mentioning that incident to Hotch. At the time Morgan was afraid he'd bust his chops . . . which he most definitely would have if he'd heard the full story . . . but Emily now felt that the statute of limitations on that secret had run it's course.

Some little part of her brain took note that over the last few months she'd shifted her loyalties a bit from Derek to Hotch. Not completely of course, Derek was still her main partner in the field, but since the day Hotch had come and dragged her back to the BAU, she did find herself a bit more in step with the man in black than she had been before. It was a strange connection they had. One that they'd had since the beginning and she knew that it would only be strengthened by what had happened between them tonight.

Kissing . . . even the kind that they had engaged in . . . was an intimate act. Really, it's not like she walked around smacking lips with every cute guy she met. Granted she had kissed a hell of a lot more guys than she'd slept with but still, kissing Hotch . . . she started washing her hands . . . it was . . . something.

For a moment Emily stared at herself in the mirror, listening to the water continuing to splash into the sink and swirl down the drain. Then she blinked, realizing then that she was allowing her brain to start chugging down a path that she absolutely did not want it to go down.

To start thinking about Hotch as a man and not her boss.

With some irritation Emily started wiping her hands dry on her skirt . . . not that she wasn't always acutely aware that Hotch was a man. That was pretty hard to miss given that he was about as virile a specimen as they come.

But he was also off limits.

Not only that though . . . she started limping over to pull on her coat again . . . he was also a royal mess and still completely in love with his wife! So the fact that she had allowed her brain to start wandering at all just went to show how lonely she was right now.

Her eyes started to sting slightly . . . damn Christmas Eve . . . day now, it was just past midnight. Either way . . . she sniffled as she tied her scarf again . . . she was now full circle from her earlier in the evening melancholy. Great.

Just . . . she yanked the door open to see Hotch standing right in front of her . . . whoa!

"Are you all right?" He asked worriedly from two inches away, "I was just about to knock. You've been in there almost ten minutes."

"Ten . . ." Emily looked down at her watch, "sorry, I uh," she swallowed as she looked back up at him, "had, uh . . . trouble with my coat."

Okay, that sounded rather stupid when she said it aloud. But it was better than telling him she was staring in the mirror thinking about him and how badly she wished she had a life and somebody to wish her merry Christmas when she woke up in the morning.

"Your coat," Hotch repeated in confusion as he looked at Emily's slightly moist eyes and then down to the unbuttoned garment, "what was it doing to you?"

She looked upset.

Despite the momentary pall that had started to settle over her again, Emily's lips started to twitch at Hotch's question . . . what was it doing to her?

Like it was an entity with free will.

"It didn't pull a gun on me if that's what you mean," she responded with a faintly watery smile. And seeing his eye roll she felt a little more of that melancholy push back. That's when she remembered that they were having a good time tonight.

She wasn't going to ruin it now.

So she just shook her head dismissively, "it was nothing, just forgot to take it off and then had to go hang it up and you know," she rolled her own eyes, "moving a little slowly this evening."

She'd have to be moving at snail pace to take ten minutes to walk six paces but whatever . . . at least the story had a grain of truth in it. And as she saw Hotch nod she knew that grain was enough for him to let it go.

"Okay, well," his eyebrow rose up slightly, "are you ready to go home now?"

If she didn't want to talk about what was bothering her he wasn't going to make her.

"Yep," she nodded before she started buttoning her coat, "just one second." When she fastened her last button she looked up at him with a little smile as she put her arms out.

"'Kay."

Though she expected Hotch to pick her up as he had earlier, instead he tipped his head rather awkwardly.

"Uh, I actually had them clean up the glass while you were in the bathroom."

"Oh," Emily dropped her arms, "okay."

Though she had no way of knowing that fact . . . not to mention it had been _his_ idea to cart her around everywhere . . . now she kind of felt like an idiot. And she started to brush by him when she stopped as she felt his hand fall to her shoulder.

"Prentiss," he asked softly, "what did you wish for tonight? You know earlier, with the falling star?"

It was a question that he'd meant to ask her at the time, but then they'd had their spill on the ice. And it wasn't until he was thinking about her watery eyes as she buttoned her coat that the question had come back to him again. She'd made a wish earlier and something she'd been thinking about in the bathroom had obviously upset her.

Though he didn't want to be too nosey, he was just wondering if the two things were related.

Emily stared at Hotch for a moment, surprised by the question and debating whether or not she should tell him. But as she saw that his eyes were soft and curious she decided that she would. So she reached up to touch his cheek as she said on a whisper, "I wished for you to find your smile."

She'd thought about wishing not to be alone anymore . . . but that had been her birthday wish. And that was okay because birthday wishes were personal . . . they were supposed to be all about you. But falling star wishes should be for something else. Something less selfish.

Really, she just wanted Hotch to be happy again.

Hotch's eyes started to burn as he stared down at this woman who constantly surprised him. And he decided then that one more deviation from the norm would be okay. So he leaned down and pulled her up and into another tight hug.

Just one more for the road.

"Merry Christmas Prentiss."

Hotch's voice was a husky whisper in Emily's ear. And she felt her breath catch as she buried her face in his neck, feeling the cashmere of his scarf caressing her cheek. Then her eyes started to water again as he rubbed her back.

"You too Hotch," she whispered back as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"You too."

* * *

_A/N 2: Given all the softer "Aaron" parts of Hotch Emily was seeing I thought it would be normal that a little part of her would kind of be equating that man's potential with the fact that she had no man of her own. Christmas can be sucky when you're all by yourself._

_And sort of echoey of Hotch's own feelings about the falling star wishes. And I'd have to agree, making a wish on something that's eons old and has fallen through time and space should be a bit grander than "I want a new car!" :) Regardless though, even though it took a little while to get it all up, I'm glad I did think of this insert because I do think it adds some needed depth to their bond in Girl. The divorce paper chapters come right after this and now that they have this night together their 'no big deal' behavior to what happens in the bathroom has a bit more context. _

_I am planning a little one shot about Morgan's misadventures in the poison ivy patch. I had the idea for that when I was reading over the malady prompts and I thought I'd just work it into this story to give it some context. It's all a rich tapestry! :)_

_Originally when I was writing this I'd thought about perhaps carrying it forward to Christmas morning (and I could still at some point) but tonight actually I was thinking that I might write a quickie little New Year's piece. It would be very quickie so I might do that this weekend. Speaking of, there are New Year's prompts up if anyone's looking to write a story. And if you're looking for any New Year's stories from me in that vein, the only one I've written is "New York State Of Mind" which is a totally different world, future fic. _

_One last thing, the bit about finding feathers on your plate, that happened to me. A VERY authentic Vietnamese place in Chinatown up in Boston. Stirring your soup and finding a feather with some skin still attached . . . kind of puts you off the meal. _


End file.
